THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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X? 


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THE  CLIMAX 


;IS  THIS  THE  END?"- -Page  35 


BY 


GEORGE  C.,JENKS 


FROM  THE  CELEBRATED    PLAY  OF  THE   SAME   NAME   BY 

EDWARD  LOCKE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

W.  W.  FAWCETT 


New  York 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 
Publishers 


Copyright  1909,  by 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY. 


THE  SONG  OF  A  SOUL 

Every  soul  hath  it's  song — 

It's  melody  divine, 
Eising  to  ecstasy, 

And  so  hath  mine. 
'Just  let  me  sing  my  song  divine 

Or  I  shall  die  of  sorrow. 

A  star  in  yonder  sky 
Invites  this  soul  of  mine 

'To  lift  it's  voice  on  high 
In  melody  divine. 

There's  promise  in  that  star — a  sign 
Of  hope  and  peace  to-morrow. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Is  This  the  End? Frontispiece 

"Play  Your  Old  Exercises  Yourself" 248 

"One  in  a  Thousand" ..... 285 

Like  Old  Times,  Eh?" 3*6 


CHAPTER  I 
"Give  me  some  music." 

Azalia  lay  somnolent  in  the  afternoon  still 
ness.  In  Southern  Ohio  there  are  days  in  mid-June 
when  not  only  the  vegetation  shrinks  and  shrivels 
before  the  heat-waves,  but  the  very  snake-fences, 
a  prominent  feature  of  the  landscape  in  that  region, 
seem  to  squirm  more  tortuously,  like  steel  rails  in 
a  blast-furnace.  This  was  such  an  afternoon.  The 
sunshine  swooped  down  mercilessly  on  the  exposed 
places,  and  tried  to  force  its  way  into  the  cool 
creek-bottoms,  where  the  swamp-grass  and  cat-tails 
swayed  lazily  in  the  slow-moving  waters/and  bum 
ble-bees  buzzed  about  the  flag-lilies.  It  was  only 
partly  successful.  To  be  sure,  points  and  patches 
of  restless  yellow  light  darted  here  and  there,  after 
playing  hide-and-seek  among  the  leaves  and 
branches  of  the  willows  and  sycamores.  But  they 
hardly  disturbed  the  shadows  gathered  in  the  hol 
lows,  and  did  not  even  dry  the  stones  where  they 
had  been  splashed  by  the  stream  as  it  flowed  lazily 
by  on  its  way  to  the  distant  river. 

9 


io  THE  CLIMAX 

The  white  road  which  stretched  away  from  the 
end  of  Main  street  in  a  long  and  dusty  perspective 
between  the  green  potato  fields,  until  it  swung  out 
of  sight  around  Hunter's  barn,  seemed  to  be  smok 
ing  in  the  heat,  for  there  was  a  haze  that  made  the 
eyes  smart  if  one  watched  it  for  a  few  moments. 
Not  that  anyone  was  watching  it.  The  five  hun 
dred  inhabitants  of  Azalia  all  had  enough  to  do 
without  staring  along  the  pike  on  a  blistering  hot 
afternoon.  Any  of  the  industrious  gentlemen  talk 
ing  politics  in  a  maddening  monotone  in  Rundell's 
grocery,  which  was  also  the  postoffice,  could  have 
told  you  that. 

Azalia  was  an  all-fired  busy  place,  especially 
on  market  days.  Why,  Granger's  Hotel,  which 
reared  its  straggling,  clap-boarded  bulk  in  the 
square  where  the  street  ended  and  the  pike  began, 
sometimes  had  as  many  as  fifteen  farmers  for  din 
ner,  and  then  there  would  be  such  a  hurly-burly 
of  queer  vehicles  hitched  outside — muddy  or  dusty, 
according  to  the  state  of  the  weather — that  they 
blocked  up  all  that  part  of  town. 

On  this  day,  although  no  strangers  were  in 
Azalia,  and  the  streets  seemed  asleep,  there  was  ac 
tivity  enough  within  doors — chiefly  in  the  nature 
of  gossip.  Things  unusual  were  happening,  or 
about  to  happen.  Even  the  politicians  at  Rundell's 


THE  CLIMAX  11 

occasionally  dropped  their  droning  discussion  of  the 
next  State  election,  which  would  not  take  place 
until  November,  to  talk  about  matters  of  much 
nearer  interest — at  least,  in  point  of  time. 

Professor  Theophilus  Cooper,  of  Columbus, 
was  announced  to  lecture  that  evening,  at  the 
Town  Hall,  on  hypnotism,  thought  transference, 
mental  suggestion,  and  kindred  phenomena,  and  it 
was  understood  that  the  learned  gentleman  would 
hypnotize  anyone  in  the  audience  willing  to  sub 
mit  himself  for  the  experiment.  This  was  one 
topic  that  had  stirred  up  all  Azalia.  Another  was 
the  rumor  that  the  music  committee  of  St.  Jude's 
Church,  now  in  session,  contemplated  an  important 
change  in  the  personnel  of  the  quartette  choir. 

Nearly  everybody  in  Azalia  attended  St. 
Jude's,  and  the  pastor,  the  Reverend  Thomas  Tread- 
house,  was  an  important  personage  in  a  mild  way. 
Mrs.  Thomas  Treadhouse  (Susan  was  her  Christian 
name)  exerted  considerable  influence  that  was  not 
so  mild.  Particularly  was  this  felt  in  the  choir. 
She  had  taken  vocal  lessons  in  Cincinnati  for  one 
term  before  her  marriage,  and,  on  the  strength  of 
that  brief  period  of  instruction,  had  insisted  on  reg 
ularly  exercising  her  thin  soprano,  with  its  irritat 
ing  tremolo,  as  a  member  of  the  quartette.  St.  Jude's 
had  always  been  proud  of  the  musical  part  of  its 


12  THE  CLIMAX 

service,  and  although  Heinrich  Von  Hagen,  the  or 
ganist,  middle-aged  and  matter-of-fact,  took  little 
heed  of  the  work  of  the  singers,  so  long  as  their 
time  was  correct,  the  soprano  had  been  a  thorn  in 
the  side  of  the  music  committee  ever  since  Mrs. 
Treadhouse  had  forced  herself  into  the  vacancy 
made  by  the  marriage  and  departure  of  her  prede 
cessor.  The  grumblings  of  the  committee  had 
reached  Mrs.  Treadhouse,  of  course.  But  she  did 
not  care.  Who  were  the  music  committee,  she 
would  like  to  know? — more  or  less  shrilly.  Now, 
unless  rumor  was  at  fault,  the  question  was  likely 
to  be  answered  to  her  discomfiture,  that  very  after 
noon. 

Down  at  Rundell's  there  was  only  a  languid 
interest  in  music.  The  parliament,  curled  up  on 
cracker-boxes  or  leaning  wearily  against  the  coun 
ter,  soon  exhausted  its  surmises  as  to  what  the 
music  committee  would  do,  and  when  Daddy 
Wylie,  father  of  Joe  Wylie,  the  blacksmith,  seated 
on  a  last  year's  cider-keg,  the  wooden  faucet  still 
in  it,  suddenly  brought  up  the  subject  of  Pro 
fessor  Cooper's  promised  entertainment,  the  other 
members  of  the  conclave  all  perked  up,  eager  for 
controversial  battle. 

"Talkin'  about  this  here  mental  suggestion," 
croaked  Daddy,  "I  don't  take  no  stock  in  it.  I  say 


THE  CLIMAX  13 

that  hyp-no-tism  and  thought  transfusion  and  all 
them  things  is  just  a  money-making  scheme." 

"Oh,  I  dunno,"  objected  Wilkins,  the  tailor, 
slowly — not  that  he  really  differed  from  the  senti 
ments  expressed,  but  because  it  was  the  custom  at 
Rundell's  to  stimulate  argument  by  taking  the  op 
posite  side. 

"Oh,  you  don't,  eh?"  snapped  Daddy.  "Well, 
now  what's  this  here  pro-fessor  comin'  to  the  Town 
Hall  for?  Why,  to  get  money.  I  don't  need  no 
mental  suggestion  to  learn  me  that.  We  folks  '11 
pay  to  go  in,  and  he'll  get  the  coin  and  keep  it — 
that  is,  most  of  it.  He'll  have  to  pay  the  hall-rent, 
of  course." 

"There  ain't  no  denying  that  part  of  it,"  ac 
quiesced  Wilkins,  grimly.  "No  one's  coming  here 
to  use  our  muneeceepal  building  for  nothing." 

A  sonorous,  masterful  voice  broke  in  here  with : 

"All  that  doesn't  say  the  theory  of  mental  sug 
gestion  is  baseless,  or  that  a  person  of  strong  will 
cannot  direct  the  thoughts  of  another  into  any 
channel  he  pleases." 

It  was  Solomon  Potter,  the  undertaker,  popu 
larly  credited  at  Rundell's  and  elsewhere  with  being 
an  exceedingly  well-read  man,  who  had  thus 
spoken.  Mr.  Potter  was  also  the  sexton  of  St. 
Jude's  Church. 


14  THE  CLIMAX 

Wilkins  glanced  sharply  at  Daddy  Wylie,  to 
see  how  he  took  this  crusher,  but  that  veteran  on 
the  field  of  disputation  was  not  dismayed. 

"I'd  jest  like  to  see  that  there  pro-fessor  make 
me  think  anything  I  don't  want  to.  Neither  him 
nor  no  other  man  can  do  it,"  was  his  dogged  re 
joinder. 

As  Daddy  Wylie  was  conceded  to  be  the  most 
obstinate  individual  in  Azalia — where  pig-headed- 
ness  was  regarded  as  a  virtue  which  everybody 
sought  to  attain — most  of  his  listeners  nodded  ener 
getic  assent. 

"Well,  Dad,  it  might  be  so  in  your  case,"  put 
in  Dave  Rundell,  who,  busily  weighing  sugar,  had 
not  taken  part  in  the  conversation  heretofore.  "But 
I  seen  Doc  Raymond  make  some  passes  behind 
Heinrich  Von  Hagen,  just  as  he  come  out  of  the 
organ-gallery,  last  Sunday,  when  Von  was  waiting 
for  his  daughter,  and  Doc  wanted  to  see  her  home 
himself,  and  what  do  you  think  happened?" 

"What?"  growled  Daddy,  pushing  up  the  tuft 
of  white  hair  on  his  chin  with  the  ends  of  his  skinny 
fingers,  resentfully.  "What  did  happen?" 

"Why,  Von  Hagen  marched  out  of  the  church 
without  even  looking  behind  him,  and  Doc  took 
Adelina  home,  just  as  he'd  wanted  to." 

Daddy  Wylie   expectorated   thoughtfully   into 


THE  CLIMAX  15 

the  open  door  of  the  big  empty  stove  in  the  middle 
of  the  store. 

"I  don't  see  nothin'  in  that  to  prove  there  was 
hyp-no-tism,"  he  snorted.  "Von  just  nat'rally  got 
tired  of  waitin'  for  the  gal.  That's  all  there  was 
to  it." 

Rundell  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Maybe  you're  right,  Dad.  But  it  looks  to  me 
as  if  Doc  Raymond  was  influencing  Heinrich  Von 
Hagen's  mind  to  make  him  do  something  he  hadn't 
meant  to  do  at  first.  I  didn't  ask  Doc,  and  he  never 
said  a  word  to  me  about  it.  But  I  know  he's  might 
ily  interested  in  the  subject  of  mental  suggestion. 
Besides,  what  did  he  spread  out  his  hands  behind 
Heinrich  for,  if  he  wasn't  trying  to  work  on  his 
brain  without  him  knowing  it?" 

"He  might  have  been  brushing  a  fly  off  the  old 
man's  bald  head.  Haw,  haw,  haw !" 

Daddy  guffawed,  wheezed  and  choked  at  his 
own  delicate  conceit,  and  all  the  others,  except 
Rundell  and  Potter,  laughed  in  sympathy,  for 
Daddy's  humor,  while  subtle,  was  also  extremely 
rich.  It  was  just  of  the  kind  to  appeal  to  the  as 
sembled  company.  Dad  knew  his  Azalia. 

While  Daddy  Wylie  thus  disposed  of  telepathy 
for  ever  in  a  gale  of  derision,  a  dust-cloud,  with  a 
horse  and  buggy  in  the  middle  of  it,  came  rolling 


16  THE  CLIMAX 

toward  town  over  the  white-hot  road  between  the 
potato-fields.  The  horse  was  moving  along  at  a 
businesslike  trot,  the  broad-shouldered  young  man 
cramped  up  in  the  buggy-seat  keeping  the  reins  at 
an  easy  tension,  which,  without  hampering  the 
horse's  gait,  never  let  him  forget  that  a  master  was 
behind  him. 

INot  bad-looking  was  this  young  man  driving 
into  Azalia  in  the  dust.  Some  folk  considered  him 
handsome,  and  certainly  his  face  had  a  rugged 
strength,  expressed  in  the  straight  nose,  rather  high 
cheek-bones  and  well-developed  chin,  which  was 
not  without  manly  charm.  Perhaps  the  mouth 
might  have  been  larger.  Somehow,  when  consid 
ered  in  conjunction  with  his  chin,  it  suggested  that 
he  might  nurse  an  extensive  set  of  prejudices  which 
he  was  prepared  to  defend  against  all  comers  at  any 
time.  But  this  defect — if  it  was  a  defect — was  off 
set  by  large,  thoughtful  brown  eyes,  in  which 
might  be  read  kindly  toleration  of  other  people's 
false  convictions,  although  he  never  could  be  in 
duced  to  share  them.  There  was  intellectual  ca 
pacity  behind  the  broad  forehead,  and  the  goodly 
space  between  the  eyes  denoted  a  prompt  and  firm 
grasp  of  admitted  facts.  John  Raymond  was  his 
name.  He  was  the  "Doc"  referred  to  by  Dave  Run- 


THE  CLIMAX  17 

dell  as  the  hero  of  the  mental  suggestion  incident 
in  St.  Jude's  Church. 

He  pulled  up  in  front  of  Granger's  Hotel,  and, 
jumping  out  of  the  buggy,  stretched  himself  luxuri 
ously.  Sammy  Granger,  the  nineteen-year-old  son 
of  the  proprietor,  hoisted  himself  from  a  wooden 
arm-chair  tilted  against  the  house,  where  he  had 
been  lazily  watching  Raymond's  approach,  and 
threaded  his  way  slowly  among  half  a  dozen  other 
chairs  scattered  about,  until  he  brought  up,  yawn 
ing,  at  the  horse's  head. 

"Hello,  Doc!  Been  over  to  Hunter's?  How's 
the  kid?" 

There  was  only  the  faintest  curiosity  in 
Sammy's  tone.  It  was  too  hot  for  powerful  emo 
tions,  especially  on  behalf  of  other  people. 

"The  boy's  all  right,"  returned  John  Raymond, 
cheerily.  "No  bones  broken.  Only  a  few  bruises. 
He  was  more  frightened  than  hurt." 

"I  guess  he  won't  climb  a  cherry-tree  again  for 
a  while,"  opined  Sammy,  preparing  to  lead  the 
horse,  buggy  and  all,  toward  the  stable. 

"I  don't  know.  It  takes  more  than  a  tumble 
like  that  to  revolutionize  boyish  instincts — primor 
dial,  probably,"  laughed  Raymond.  "I'm  afraid 
he'll  be  up  in  that  tree  again  within  forty-eight 


18  THE  CLIMAX 

hours,  although  no  doubt  the  accident  will  make 
him  a  little  more  careful — for  a  few  days." 

"He'd  better.  Them  durned  cherry-tree  limbs 
are  the  brittlest  wood  I  know.  A  feller  has  to 

watch  himself  when  he's  after  cherries.  Remember 
them  two  ribs  of  mine  you  helped  to  fix  up,  Doc?" 

"Yes,  you  were  a  very  sick  boy  for  a  while, 
Sam." 

"That's  what  I  was,"  assented  Sammy,  dole 
fully.  "I  ain't  got  no  use  for  cherries  to  this  day." 

"Are  you  going  to  the  lecture  to-night?"  asked 
Raymond,  seeking  a  more  cheerful  subject. 

"What — me  stay  away  from  a  good  show?" 
yelped  Sammy,  with  a  knowing  chuckle.  "You  bet 
I'm  going.  Why,  a  hardware  drummer  who  was 
here  last  week  said  he  went  to  the  lecture  in  Zanes- 
ville,  and  it  was  better  than  a  circus.  Professor 
Cooper  made  one  man  believe  he  was  deef-and- 
dumb.  An  auctioneer  he  was,  and  a  gabby  one  at 
that.  But  when  the  Professor  told  him  he  couldn't 
speak — gee  ! — he  couldn't  make  a  peep — not  a 
sound.  Then  he  had  fellows  standing  on  their 
heads,  and  crawling  about  the  floor,  and  doing  all 
sorts  of  stunts.  It  must  be  fine.  I  wouldn't  miss 
it  for  a  farm.  You'll  be  there,  I  s'pose?" 

"Very  likely,"  was  the  careless  response  of  the 
young  doctor,  as  he  turned  away. 


THE  CLIMAX  19 

John  Raymond,  sauntering  down  Main  street, 
pondered  over  what  Sammy  Granger  had  told  him 
about  Professor  Cooper's  achievements  in  Zanes- 
ville.  He  was  much  more  interested  than  his  off 
hand  manner  had  indicated.  The  upshot  of  his  re 
flections  was  that  he  resolved  to  have  a  little  con 
versation  with  the  Professor  after  his  lecture  that 
evening,  if  possible.  Then  his  thoughts  took  a 
new  direction.  The  vision  of  a  young  girl,  with 
golden-brown  hair  and  blue-gray  eyes,  blotted  out 
everything  else,  and  he  quickened  his  steps  along 
the  red-brick  sidewalk  with  a  smile  of  pleasant 
anticipation. 

Two  blocks  from  the  hotel  he  turned  to  the 
left,  under  an  arcade  of  elms  that  over-arched  the 
thoroughfare  from  fence  to  fence,  and  where  the 
scent  of  roses,  carnations,  pansies  and  honeysuckles 
mingled  with  the  softer  fragrance  of  green  leaves 
and  meadow-grass.  The  frame  houses — some  of 
the  more  pretentious  topped  off  with  the  mansard 
roofs  which  were  the  architectural  rage  when  many 
of  Azalia's  present  residences  came  into  being — all 
stood  far  back  from  the  street,  half  hidden  by  rose 
and  lilac  bushes  behind  the  low  picket-fences. 

Crunching  his  way  over  the  cinder-path  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  street  for  twenty  yards  or 
so,  the  young  man  stopped  suddenly.  He  had 


20  THE  CLIMAX 

heard  a  canary  singing  vigorously  ever  since  he 
turned  the  corner,  and  the  smile  had  deepened  on 
his  face,  for  he  knew  where  the  bird  was,  even  be 
fore  he  made  it  out,  in  its  brass  cage,  hanging  under 
a  porch  nearly  smothered  by  a  crimson  rambler. 
He  placed  his  hand  on  a  garden-gate  that  had 
swung  open  across  the  path,  and  listened. 

"I  thought  I  couldn't  be  mistaken,"  he  mur 
mured.  "It  is  Adelina." 

Clear  and  sweet,  high  above  the  notes  of  the 
canary,  but  always  in  harmonious  cadence,  arose  a 
continuous  trill  in  a  girl's  fresh  young  voice.  It 
was  a  challenge,  which  the  bird  took  up  at  once. 
Louder  and  louder  he  sang,  but  always  the  trill 
accompanied  him,  every  accent  distinct,  liquid  and 
true.  Sometimes  the  tones  from  the  two  singers 
were  so  nearly  of  the  same  volume  that  one  seemed 
to  be  a  mere  shading  of  the  other.  Then  the  canary 
warbled  a  dozen  or  so  of  long,  full  notes,  while  the 
girl's  cadenza,  rising  and  falling  rhythmically, 
made  a  background  of  gorgeous  tone-color,  like  a 
Turner  picture  dissolved  into  music.  So  the  duet 
went  on,  and  John  Raymond,  leaning  on  the  sway 
ing  wooden  gate,  wondered  vaguely  why  there  was 
a  sub-conscious  twinge  of  pain  in  the  pleasure  it 
gave  him. 

"I  suppose  it  is  because  music  usually  has  that 


THE  CLIMAX  21 

effect,"  he  concluded,  as  he  turned  into  the  garden 
to  which  the  gate  belonged. 

As  he  went  up  the  garden-path  he  glanced 
across  to  where  a  girl's  white  summer  dress  shim 
mered  among  the  crimson  blossoms  on  the  porch 
where  the  canary  hung.  He  hoped  for  a  moment 
that  she  would  see  him.  But  she  didn't,  so  he 
went  on  to  the  house  and  up  to  his  room,  to  get 
the  dust  of  the  white  road  out  of  his  clothes  and 
himself.  John  Raymond  and  Adelina  Von  Hagen 
were  next-door  neighbors. 

It  was  half  an  hour  later  when  Raymond,  leis 
urely  completing  his  toilet,  heard  a  gate  slam,  and 
he  peeped  through  the  slats  of  his  sun-blind  in  idle 
curiosity.  Three  men  were  walking  through  the 
garden  to  the  rose-covered  porch  next  door.  One 
of  them,  a  stout  individual,  of  pompous  mien, 
whose  white  waistcoat  thrust  itself  aggressively 
forward,  like  a  show-window  of  prosperity,  and 
whose  dome-like  head,  under  a  very  wide-brimmed 
soft  hat,  seemed  to  exhale  judicial  wisdom, 
marched  a  little  in  advance  of  his  companions. 

"  'Squire  Morgan,  eh  ?"  said  Raymond  to  him 
self.  "With  Doctor  Simmons  and  Franz  Ehrhardt. 
What  can  they  be  after,  coming  in  a  body  this  way? 
Oh,  yes !  They  are  the  music  committee.  Going 
to  give  Professor  Von  Hagen  some  instructions 


22  THE  CLIMAX 

about  the  music  for  next  Sunday,  I  suppose. 
There's  liable  to  be  some  music  right  there,  in  the 
house.  The  Professor  won't  submit  to  their  dicta 
tion  forever.  He  maintains — and  he  is  right — that 
the  organist  should  make  up  his  own  music  pro 
gramme.  Some  of  these  days  the  old  man  will  kick 
the  committee  out  of  his  house  and  resign." 

He  smiled  at  the  thought  of  the  short-tempered 
Von  Hagen  dealing  thus  summarily  with  'Squire 
Morgan,  and  returned  to  the  mirror  to  finish  the 
interrupted  operation  of  adjusting  his  necktie.  It 
took  him  a  long  time,  as  neckties  often  do.  He  was 
giving  the  knot  a  final  impatient  tug,  when  he 
heard  Adelina's  voice.  She  was  calling,  softly : 

"John,  come  here — will  you?'' 

Would  he?  He  would  have  jumped  out  of  the 
window  to  her  when  she  called  him  by  name  in  that 
tone,  and  he  threw  open  the  slatted  shutters  with 
a  bang.  She  was  leaning  over  the  fence  separating 
the  two  gardens.  When  she  saw  him  she  put  her 
two  hands  to  her  pretty  mouth,  megaphone  fashion, 
and  said,  in  the  manner  of  one  making  a  public  an 
nouncement,  in  a  loud  whisper : 

"Behold  the  new  soprano  of  St.  Jude's." 

Down  the  stairs  he  went,  three  at  a  time, 
reached  the  garden,  and,  vaulting  over  the  palings, 
was  by  her  side  while  she  still  looked  up  at  the 


THE  CLIMAX  23 

window,  wondering  why  he  had  disappeared  so 
suddenly.  At  least,  she  said  she  was  wondering. 
But  if  she  didn't  know  that  John  Raymond  would 
lose  no  time  in  coming  to  her,  as  she  stood  there, 
all  fluffy  and  bewitching,  awaiting  him,  then  she 
must  have  forgotten  all  he  had  ever  taught  her. 
She  was  a  good  excuse  for  any  young  man's  tumul 
tuous  haste.  With  her  plump  arms  extended  from 
the  short  lace  sleeves,  as  she  grasped  the  top  of 
the  fence,  her  cheeks  flushed  with  pleasant  excite 
ment,  and  the  red-gold  glory  of  the  dying  after 
noon  glinting  her  hair,  Adelina  Von  Hagen  was  a 
vision  which  might  have  fascinated  a  far  less  im 
pressionable  personage  than  this  young  country 
doctor. 

"So  that's  what  the  music  committee  came 
for?"  he  panted,  for  haste  had  shortened  his  breath. 
"I  congratulate  you,  Addie.  I  saw  them  going  in, 
but  I  supposed  they  wanted  to  see  your  father." 

"That's  what  he  thought,  and  he  had  bristled 
up  as  he  always  does  when  he  sees  them  coming. 
You  know,  he  doesn't  care  for  the  organ — and  he 
hates  the  music  committee.  But  he  says  there 
isn't  a  living  in  teaching  the  violin,  and  the  salary 
from  St.  Jude's  is  useful.  If  it  were  not  for  that 
he  would  have  resigned  years  ago.  Now  I  shall 


24  THE  CLIMAX 

be  able  to  help  him.  They  are  to  pay  me  a  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year.  A  lot  of  money — isn't  it?" 

"Not  for  such  a  voice  as  yours?" 

"Do  you  really  think  my  voice  is  good,  John  ?" 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  thinking.  Everybody  in 
Azalia  knows  it  is  magnificent,"  he  declared,  em 
phatically.  Then  he  added,  with  a  hardly-percep 
tible  tightening  of  the  lips,  "for  sacred  music." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  asked,  quickly. 
"Don't  you  think  I  can  sing  anything  but  hymns, 
psalms  and  anthems?" 

John  Raymond  looked  troubled,  and  there  was 
a  marked  pause  before  he  replied,  in  gentle  re 
proach  : 

"How  could  I  think  that,  when  I  hang  over 
the  piano  to  hear  your  ballads  at  every  opportun 
ity?" 

"Ballads?  Oh,  yes,"  she  returned,  indiffer 
ently.  "But  what  about  the  arias  from  the  operas? 
Don't  you  care  for  them?  I  sang  Margherita's 
'Jewel  Song'  for  you  the  other  evening,  and  'Di 
Tale  Amor,'  from  'II  Trovatore,'  and  I  thought  you 
were  pleased." 

"So  I  was.  You  seemed  to  throw  your  whole 
soul  into  the  music." 

"I  did.  I  always  do.  My  mother  used  to  sing 
them  both.  Margherita  and  Leonora  were  her  fav- 


THE  CLIMAX  25 

orite  parts.  I  have  heard  her  say  that  when  she 
stepped  forward  to  the  footlights  in  either  of  those 
characters  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  great  audience 
were  holding  out  their  arms  to  take  her  to  their 
bosoms.  Oh,  it  must  have  been  glorious!  To  be 
a  famous  prima  donna,  impersonating  the  heroines 
of  romance,  and  telling  their  stories  in  the  thrilling 
music  of  Gounod,  Verdi,  Mozart,  Rossini,  Wagner 
and  all  the  others.  To  wear  splendid  dresses  and 
flashing  jewels.  To  meet  Lohengrin  in  an  en 
chanted  palace,  or  to  soar  in  the  clouds  with  the 
Valkyrie.  To  hear  the  crash  of  applause  as  you 
come  before  the  curtain,  and  to  know  it  is  all  for 
you.  What  is  singing  in  a  church  choir  compared 
with  that?" 

"The  church  choir  is  safer,"  he  said,  coldly. 

She  turned  on  him  with  blazing  eyes,  and  he 
saw,  with  a  strange,  unexplainable  fear,  that  there 
was  a  determination  in  their  blue-gray  depths 
which  might  be  more  than  a  match  for  his  own 
some  day.  If  ever  there  should  come  a  battle  of 
will  against  will — his  against  hers — with  the  fate  of 
one  or  both  on  the  issue,  which  would  be  the  vic 
tor?  He  could  not  tell.  Again  and  again  he  con 
fessed  to  himself,  in  the  second  or  two  before  she 
spoke,  that  he  could  not  tell. 


26  THE  CLIMAX 

"You  are  reflecting  on  my  mother,"  she  said, 
at  last,  in  low,  tense  tones. 

"I  am  not,  Adelina,"  he  protested,  piteously — 
and,  indignant  as  she  was,  she  could  not  but  see 
that  he  suffered.  "I  am  thinking  only  of  the  girl 
I  love.  I  know  that,  though  you  are  pleased  to  be 
chosen  soprano  of  St.  Jude's  choir,  it  does  not  sat 
isfy  your  ambition.  You  cannot  keep  your  mind 
away  from  the  stage.  It  is  because  I  see  and  know 
this  that  I  say  things  to  offend  you.  But,  surely 
you  understand  that  I  don't  do  it  intentionally?" 

The  anger  had  died  out  of  her  eyes,  and  she 
put  one  of  her  soft  white  hands  into  his  strong 
brown  ones  for  a  moment.  Then,  as  they  walked 
slowly  along,  among  the  flower-beds,  she  stooped 
and  plucked  a  pansy,  which  she  placed  against  her 
lace  sleeve. 

"Don't  you  think  the  velvety  purple  and  dull 
yellow  look  pretty  on  white?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

"Beautiful,"  was  his  answer.  But,  as  he  spoke, 
he  was  looking  at  her  face,  and  not  at  the  flower  on 
her  sleeve. 

"I  love  pansies,"  she  went  on.  "The  perfume 
is  so  delicate,  and  there  are  such  dainty  fancies  as 
sociated  with  them.  'Heart's-ease'  is  one  of  their 
names,  you  know.  I  have  heard  that,  when  one  is 
over-ambitious — discontented,  distressed,  longing 


THE  CLIMAX  27 

for  something  utterly  beyond  reach — a  cluster  of 
pansies  laid  over  the  heart  will  quiet  it,  and  bring 
tranquility,  if  not  contentment." 

John  Raymond  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment,  a 
world  of  adoration  in  his  eyes.  Then,  stooping, 
he  broke  off  a  dozen  of  the  brilliant  blossoms,  and, 
arranging  them  in  a  loose  bouquet  with  a  deftness 
that  belonged  to  his  growing  skill  as  a  surgeon, 
gave  them  to  her,  saying,  with  a  grave  smile : 

"You  might  try  the  experiment,  Adelina." 

"I  will,"  she  answered,  as  she  pinned  the  pan 
sies  on  her  corsage.  Then,  softly,  to  herself: 
"Heart's-ease?  Not  through  pansies,  I  am  afraid." 

"What  did  you  say,  Adelina?" 

"Nothing,"  was  her  quiet  response.  "But  there 
go  the  music  committee,  out  of  the  gate.  They 
said,  after  they  had  told  me  of  my  appointment, 
that  they  might  as  well  have  a  talk  to  dad  about 
his  music  for  next  Sunday.  Let's  hear  what  he  has 
to  say  about  them.  It  will  be  interesting,  I  am 
sure." 

John  Raymond  was  too  deep  in  thought  to  an 
swer.  They  went  up  to  the  crimson-garlanded 
porch  in  silence.  The  canary  had  ceased  to  sing. 


CHAPTER  II 

"And  now  I  know  that  in  your  music's  sweetness 
Your  mother's  hallowed  influence  has  a  part." 

That  John  Raymond  ever  could  sympathize 
with  Adelina's  deep-seated  longing  for  an  operatic 
career  was  out  of  the  question.  He  had  inherited 
a  prejudice  against  the  stage  which  caused  him  to 
regard  it  habitually  from  one  narrow  angle.  He 
read  every  criticism  of  the  theatre  and  its  people 
that  came  in  his  way,  and,  no  matter  how  bitter 
and  illogical  the  arraignment,  he  never  hesitated 
to  accept  it  as  gospel.  His  father — a  man  of  stern 
morals  and  afflicted  with  a  ferocious  piety,  dan 
gerously  near  bigotry — abhorred  the  theatre  with 
a  vicious  intensity  only  possible  to  a  really  good 
man.  It  was  of  record  that  once  he  had  gone 
through  a  howling  blizzard  to  a  town  nearly  a 
hundred  miles  away,  to  attend  a  Sunday-school 
Christmas-tree  entertainment,  but  had  come  back 
without  taking  part  in  it,  because  it  was  held  in 
the  opera  house.  What  wonder  that,  with  such  a 
parent,  John  Raymond  regarded  the  stage  as  the 

28 


THE  CLIMAX  29 

hotbed  of  all  evil  ?  Carrie,  his  sister,  the  only  other 
member  of  the  household,  naturally  assumed  that 
her  father  and  brother  were  right,  and  hated  the 
stage  more  than  they  did,  without  exactly  knowing 
why. 

Adelina  Von  Hagen,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
been  reared  in  her  early  childhood  in  an  atmos 
phere  of  art  which  found  its  fullest  expression  be 
fore  the  footlights.  Her  mother  had  been  a  petted 
prima  donna  in  Italy,  and  had  come  to  America  to 
win  fresh  triumphs.  But  Love,  the  rascal,  who  en 
joys  nothing  so  much  as  playing  the  mischief  with 
human  ambition,  put  Heinrich  Von  Hagen,  a  well- 
looking  young  German,  into  the  orchestra,  as  first 
violin.  Not  only  did  he  admire  the  beautiful  Italian 
girl,  but  he  determined  to  marry  her.  He  observed, 
at  rehearsals,  that  the  leading  tenor,  Luigi  Gol- 
fanti,  was  paying  court  to  her,  desperately  and  in 
her  native  tongue.  Von  Hagen  did  not  speak  good 
Italian,  but  he  made  up  his  mind,  after  due  delib 
eration,  that  the  tenor,  handsome  as  he  was,  and 
notwithstanding  that  he  had  the  advantage  of  com 
ing  from  her  own  country,  could  be  driven  off  the 
field,  and  in  his  stolid  Teutonic  way,  he  pressed 
his  suit  so  effectively  with  her  that,  at  the  end  of 
the  season,  they  were  married.  Perhaps  she  loved 
the  young  German.  The  chances  are  that  she  did, 


30  THE  CLIMAX 

finding  his  slow,  phlegmatic  wooing  fascinating  in 
its  very  contrast  with  her  own  passionate  Southern 
nature.  Such  fancies  are  not  uncommon. 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  had  not  been  blind  to  the 
pecuniary  advantage  of  becoming  the  husband  of 
a  young  woman  whose  voice  was  literally  golden. 
Indeed,  some  people — Luigi  Golfanti  among  them 
— did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  his  affections  were 
enlisted  as  much  in  her  large  salary  as  in  herself. 
However  that  may  have  been,  it  was  not  for  long 
that  he  was  privileged  to  share  in  his  wife's  earn 
ings  Within  a  year  a  girl-baby  came,  and  when, 
one  day  three  months  later,  Von  Hagen  impatiently 
commanded  the  mother  to  sing  one  of  the  most 
florid  arias  in  her  repertoire,  while  he  played  the 
accompaniment,  he  was  horrified  to  find  that  most 
of  the  power  had  faded  from  her  voice.  She  could 
still  sing,  but  not  with  the  commanding  volume 
and  technique  which  had  made  her  fame.  Again 
and  again  he  thumped  the  piano,  as  she  tried  selec 
tion  after  selection,  each  easier  than  the  one  before 
it.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  of  agonizing  endeavor 
they  both  knew  that  no  longer  could  she  hope  to 
fill  the  brilliant  roles  which  had  once  been  so  easy. 
She  might  be  equal  to  small,  insignificant  parts,  but 
never  more  would  she  hold  the  centre  of  the  stage 
as  a  prima  donna. 


THE  CLIMAX  31 

They  called  the  baby  Adelina — after  a  dear 
friend  of  the  mother's  who  had  in  the  meantime 
become  the  wife  of  Luigi — and,  in  her  delight  in 
her  infant,  the  dethroned  diva  almost  forgot  her 
artistic  downfall.  Not  so  her  husband.  He  re 
garded  the  loss  of  her  money-making  ability  as 
somehow  her  fault,  and  he  never  forgave  her.  He 
made  her  teach  music  and  occasionally  take  a 
chorus  engagement  in  opera,  when  she  could  get  it, 
never  heeding  what  was  obvious  to  others — that 
her  health  was  slowly,  but  surely,  declining,  as  he 
spurred  her  on  to  efforts  clearly  beyond  her 
strength. 

One  afternoon,  eight  years  from  the  day  Ade 
lina  was  born,  she  called  the  little  girl  to  her  as 
she  lay  on  the  sofa,  kissed  her  feebly  and  asked 
her  to  play  her  Czerny  exercises. 

"Don't  stop  if  I  fall  asleep,  dear,"  she  said. 
"Your  playing  won't  disturb  me." 

"Very  well,  mamma." 

Adelina  was  still  playing  when  her  father  came 
into  the  room,  from  a  rehearsal,  and  angrily  told 
her  she  would  wake  her  mother  with  her  noise.  But 
the  piano  did  not  wake  her.  Nothing  ever  did — in 
this  world. 

It  was  a  year  after  her  mother's  death  when 
Adelina's  father  settled  down  in  Azalia.  They 


32  THE  CLIMAX 

wanted  an  organist  at  St.  Jucle's  Church,  and  Hem- 
rich  Von  Hagen,  with  whom  things  had  not  been 
going  well,  offered  himself  and  was  accepted,  at  a 
salary  about  equal  to  the  wages  his  wife  had  paid 
her  maid  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity.  He  added 
to  his  income  by  teaching  the  violin,  although  he 
never  had  many  pupils  at  one  time.  The  difficul 
ties  presented  by  that  elusive  instrument  dismayed 
the  Azalians,  and  most  of  the  young  people  with 
musical  leanings  preferred  to  stick  to  the  melodeon, 
as  their  parents  had  stuck  before  them. 

Among  the  few  who,  under  Professor  Von 
Hagen's  instructions,  labored  to  conquer  the  dia 
bolical  perplexities  of  "bowing,"  and  to  unravel  the 
mysteries  of  the  various  "positions"  on  the  finger 
board,  without  setting  his  own  teeth  on  edge,  was 
John  Raymond — familiarly  known,  at  that  period 
of  his  existence,  as  "Jacky."  To  say  truth,  he  was 
not  a  promising  pupil.  Many  a  rap  on  the  knuckles 
did  Professor  Von  Hagen  bestow  with  the  back  of 
his  bow,  accompanied  by  a  gutteral  expletive  in  his 
native  German,  and  Jacky  Raymond  would  have 
given  it  all  up  long  before  he  did  but  for  the  en 
couragement  of  little  Adelina.  She  liked  the  boy, 
and,  as  she  was  not  old  enough  to  be  ashamed  of 
showing  her  preference  for  an  individual  of  the  op 
posite  sex,  she  would  spend  hours  with  him,  listen- 


THE  CLIMAX  33 

ing,  with  hypocritical,  but  affectionate,  admiration, 
to  his  wretched  sawing.  How  much,  with  her  deli 
cate  musical  ear,  she  suffered,  she  never  told  hina. 
He  always  played  flat. 

John  Raymond  was  musing  on  that  far-away 
time  of  his  violin  studies  as  he  and  Adelina  strolled 
up  the  garden-path  to  the  porch  with  the  crimson 
ramblers,  on  this  sweet  June  afternoon.  He  was 
sure  now,  as  he  looked  back  through  the  vistas  of 
the  years,  that  she  had  made  him  jealous  by  talk 
ing  about  the  stage  even  then.  She  had  always 
wanted  to  be  a  great  singer,  and  he  recalled  how 
she  had  once  told  him,  with  childish  faith  in  the 
prophetic  truth  of  the  vision,  that  she  had  dreamed 
her  mother  came  to  her  in  the  night  and  promised 
to  be  with  her  when  she  walked  on  the  stage  to" 
sing  Leonora  for  the  first  time. 

He  was  startled  out  of  his  reverie  by  stumbling 
against  the  steps  of  the  porch,  and  Adelina  laugh 
ingly  offered  him  "A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Mr. 
Raymond." 

"1  was  only  thinking  how  pleased  all  your 
friends  will  be  to  know  that  you  are  to  sing  in  St. 
Jude's  choir,"  he  answered,  awkwardly. 

"You  didn't  look  pleased.  There  was  a  frown 
on  jour  face." 

"That  was  not  a  frown,"  he  said — and  he 


34  THE  CLIMAX 

smiling  now.  "It  was  only  an  involuntary  contrac 
tion  of  the  facial  muscles,  the  outward  evidence  of 
mental  concentration." 

She  might  have  argued  the  point,  but  there 
was  no  opportunity.  As  she  had  anticipated,  her 
father  had  some  interesting  remarks  to  make  about 
the  music  committee,  and  he  made  them  volumi 
nously.  For  twenty  minutes  he  held  forth  on  the 
insolence  of  men  who  knew  nothing  about  music 
presuming  to  offer  suggestions  to  one  who  had 
made  the  science  a  life  study.  He  was  still  growl 
ing  when  Raymond  went  to  supper,  after  telling 
the  girl  he  would  be  back  at  half-past  seven  to  take 
her  to  Professor  Cooper's  lecture  in  the  Town  Hall. 

As  the  young  doctor  paused  on  the  threshold 
of  his  home,  he  wished  there  was  someone  inside 
to  whom  he  could  turn  for  sympathy  in  his  mis 
givings  about  Adelina.  But  he  knew  better  than 
to  mention  them  either  to  his  father  or  sister.  It 
had  fallen  to  him  to  defend  Adelina  vigorously 
more  than  once,  when  the  former  chose  to  utter 
one  of  his  favorite  philippics  against  the  stage,  and 
had  held  up  the  girl  as  one  in  danger  of  being  drawn 
to  everlasting  perdition  by  its  infernal  influence. 
So  the  main  topic  over  the  supper  table  was  the 
comparatively  safe  one  of  Professor  Cooper's  prom- 


THE  CLIMAX  35 

ised  demonstrations  of  animal  magnetism  and  tel 
epathy  that  evening. 

"You  are  going,  of  course,  father?"  said  John 
Raymond,  at  the  end  of  a  dissertation  on  mind- 
reading  and  mental  suggestion  which  he  flattered 
himself  must  be  convincing. 

"No,  I  shall  not  go,"  replied  Raymond  senior, 
with  the  impressiveness  that  made  everything  he 
said  seem  weighty,  even  when  it  was  only  "Pass 
the  prunes." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  do  not  believe  these  pretended  phe 
nomena  of  animal  magnetism,  hypnotism,  telepathy 
and  so  forth  have  any  sound  scientific  basis.  More 
over,  I  fear  they  verge  on  impiety.  Professor 
Cooper  I  regard  as  a  charlatan,  whom  I  could  not 
conscientiously  encourage  by  my  presence.  There 
fore,  I  shall  not  attend  his  lecture." 

Carrie  glanced  wistfully  at  John,  and  he,  like 
a  kind  brother,  as  he  was,  immediately  asked  her 
if  she  would  not  go  with  him. 

"If  papa  does  not  object,"  she  ventured,  tim 
idly,  and  not  too  hopefully. 

For  a  few  moments  Mr.  Raymond  did  not 
make  known  his  dictum.  He  believed  in  the  chast 
ening  beneficence  of  uncertainty.  Finally,  with  a 
pious  uplifting  of  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  calling  on 


36  THE  CLIMAX 

the  angels  to  gaze  upon  him  as  a  long-suffering 
and  indulgent  parent,  he  said,  solemnly: 

"I  will  waive  my  objections  if  you  feel  you  can 
afford  to  waste  your  time  on  such  nonsense." 

The  truth  was  that  this  estimable  man's  curi 
osity  had  been  aroused  as  to  what  Professor  Cooper 
really  could  accomplish  in  the  obscure  sciences  in 
which  he  was  said  to  be  an  authority,  and  he  knew 
he  should  be  able  to  draw  from  Carrie,  when  she 
returned,  a  circumstantial  account  of  all  that  was 
said  and  done,  to  the  minutest  detail.  That  his 
son's  report  would  be  brief  and  unsatisfactory  was 
equally  certain. 

"Well,  hurry  up,  Carrie,"  admonished  John, 
as  his  sister  ran  away  to  her  bedroom.  "You'll 
find  me  outside." 

He  was  glad  to  get  into  the  flower-scented 
outer  air  again,  for  his  home,  and  particularly  his 
father,  depressed  him.  He  drew  a  long  breath  as 
he  made  his  way  around  to  the  Von  Hagens'  gar 
den,  to  see  if  Adelina  was  ready,  thus  giving  Car 
rie  time  to  put  on  her  hat,  as  well  as  certain  lace 
decorations  for  the  neck  and  shoulders  that  smelled 
of  tar  and  came  out  only  on  state  occasions.  He 
stopped  by  the  side  of  the  pansy-bed,  where  he  had 
gathered  the  bouquet  for  Adelina  in  the  afternoon. 

"Heart's-ease!"  he  murmured.     "If  I  thought 


THE  CLIMAX  37 

there  were  anything  in  that,  I  would  pile  them  high 
on  my  breast  every  night.  Heart's-ease !" 

"Here  I  am,  John.     We're  not  late,  I  hope." 

Adelina  came  tripping  from  the  porch,  and  he 
saw  that  she  wore  the  pansies  he  had  given  her. 
She  was  smiling  gaily.  There  never  was  a  cloud 
between  them  when  she  looked  like  that. 

"I  kept  your  pansies  in  water,  and  see  how 
fresh  they  are,"  she  rattled  on.  "I  was  determined 
to  wear  them  this  evening.  Oh!  There's  Carrie! 
She's  going  with  us,  isn't  she?  I'm  glad  of  that." 
Then,  raising  her  voice :  "Hello,  Carrie !  Hoo-hoo !" 

Carrie  had  just  appeared  at  her  own  door,  with 
her  hat  and  the  afore-mentioned  lace  things  on. 
She  only  smiled  demurely,  without  speaking,  as  be 
came  a  serious-minded  young  woman,  in  acknowl 
edgment  of  Adelina's  exuberant  greeting,  and  came 
down  the  garden-path  to  join  them  at  the  gate. 

"I  hope  this  Professor  will  be  funny,  don't 
you?"  said  Adelina,  impulsively  kissing  her  on  the 
cheek. 

"I  like  anything  that  is  instructive,"  was  Car 
rie's  calm  reply.  "But  I  do  not  care  for  frivolity. 
I  hope  to  be  greatly  refreshed.  That  is  why  I  am 
going." 

"Oh,     are     there     to    be    refreshments?      Ice- 


38  THE  CLIMAX 

cream,  and  lemonade,  and  cake,  I  suppose.  I  didn't 
know." 

"I  meant  mentally  refreshed." 

"Oh!" 

Adelina  had  understood  that,  of  course,  but 
she  never  could  resist  the  temptation  to  put  a  crimp 
in  Carrie  when  she  got  too  "starchy,"  as  she  con 
fessed  to  John,  in  a  whisper,  when  Miss  Raymond 
marched  a  few  paces  ahead. 

It  seemed  as  if  nearly  everybody  was  going  to 
the  lecture.  No  sooner  had  John  and  the  two 
young  ladies  turned  the  corner  into  Main  street 
than  they  were  caught  in  a  strong  current  of  hu 
manity  streaming  towards  the  Town  Hall.  The 
lecture,  it  had  been  advertised,  would  be  addressed 
to  the  intellectual  portion  of  the  public,  and  Azalia 
responded  en  masse  to  such  an  appeal.  Azalia  was 
a  cultured  community.  If  you  doubted  it,  you 
could  ask  any  of  its  adult  inhabitants. 

"There's  Tommy  Tittlemouse,"  said  Adelina  to 
John,  in  an  undertone.  "Don't  walk  too  fast.  They 
are  only  a  little  in  front  of  us." 

Sad  to  say,  "Tommy  Tittlemouse"  was  none 
other  than  the  Reverend  Thomas  Treadhouse.  But 
Adelina  had  known  Tommy  when  he  was  an  awk 
ward  hobbledehoy,  of  preternatural  solemnity,  and 
having  given  him  his  nickname  then,  she  would  not 


THE  CLIMAX  39 

change  it  now,  even  though  he  had  become  a  min 
ister. 

"I  suppose  Susan  wouldn't  speak  to  me  now. 
As  if  it's  my  fault  I'm  to  have  her  place  in  the 
choir,"  she  continued,  taking  Carrie  into  the  con 
versation.  "I'm  sure — 

"Oh,  yes,  I  forgot,  Adelina,"  interrupted  Car 
rie.  "I  congratulate  you.  My  father  heard  of  it 
from  'Squire  Morgan,  and  he  says  it's  an  excellent 
selection.  Papa  likes  you,  you  know.  I  hope  you 
will  find  the  position  a  pleasant  one.  But,  of 
course,  you  never  can  tell.  This  is  a  world  of  dis 
appointments." 

Adelina  shook  herself  involuntarily  under  this 
shower  of  verbal  ice-water,  and  said  she  was  glad 
that  Mr.  Raymond  approved  of  the  music  commit 
tee's  choice,  that  she  would  do  her  best,  and  that 
if  the  position  should  not  prove  altogether  pleasant, 
she  would  try  to  endure  it  for  the  sake  of  the  sal 
ary. 

"Why,  Miss  Von  Hagen,  how  do  you  do?" 
broke  in  a  very  stout  woman,  whose  brick-red  face 
made  the  crimson  roses  in  her  hat  seem  almost 
pale,  as  she  waddled  out  of  a  doorway  and  stood 
directly  in  their  path. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Potter.  Going  to  the  lec 
ture?" 


4o  THE  CLIMAX 

"I  certainly  am,"  replied  the  stout  woman,  who 
was  the  better  half  of  the  sonorous  undertaker  and 
sexton  so  well  thought  of  by  the  sages  accus 
tomed  to  air  their  wisdom  at  Rundell's.  "I  reckon 
it  will  be  well  worth  going  to.  My  husband  says 
this  Professor  Cooper  can  put  his  brains  into  any 
one  he  likes.  I  hope  he  won't  try  it  on  me.  I've 
got  a  set  of  my  own  that  suit  me  very  well.  I 
shouldn't  want  a  strange  man's  brains  in  my  head. 
I  don't  think  it  would  be  a  respectable  thing  to 
do  to  a  married  lady  he'd  never  seen  before.  Nor 
to  a  single  one,  neither,"  she  added,  as  a  consistent 
after-thought.  "Te-he!  Te-he  !" 

Mrs.  Potter's  voice  was  very  thin,  in  contrast 
with  her  ample  person,  and  her  tittering  giggles 
were  mere  splinters  of  sound  that  suggested  any 
thing  but  honest  mirth.  She  was  one  of  the  busiest 
members  of  St.  Jude's  Sewing  Circle. 

"I  hear  they've  asked  Mrs.  Treadhouse  for  her 
resignation  as  soprano,  and  that  you'll  sing  in  her 
place  after  next  Sunday,"  she  went  on.  "Is  that 
so?" 

It  was  John  Raymond  who  replied  to  Mrs.  Pot 
ter,  somewhat  shortly:  "Yes,  that  is  so.  Miss  Von 
Hagen  was  told  by  the  music  committee  this  after 
noon." 

He  tried  to  steer  Adelina  and  his  sister  around 


THE  CLIMAX  41 

the  good  lady,  for  their  sudden  enforced  halt  had 
held  up  the  whole  procession  on  the  narrow  side 
walk,  and  there  was  a  storm  of  angry  protests  all 
the  way  down  the  block  that  threatened  to  become 
a  riot.  But  the  undertaker's  wife  was  not  to  be 
shaken  off.  She  walked  along  with  them,  talking 
as  she  went. 

"I'm  thinking  Mrs.  Treadhouse  will  take  it 
rather  hard,  and  I  allow  as  the  preacher  won't  like 
it  none  too  well,  neither,"  she  purred,  comfortably, 
but  with  one  doubtful  eye  on  John  Raymond,  who 
was  scowling  fiercely.  "You  know,  Adelina,  there's 
folks  in  Azalia  what's  li'ble  to  object  to  you  because 
your  mother  used  to  act  out  on  the  stage.  Of 
course,  that  ain't  none  of  your  fault.  A  child  ain't 
got  no  right  to  be  blamed  for  her  parents.  That's 
what  I  up  and  says  to  my  husband  this  very  after 
noon,  when  he  come  in  and  told  me  about  you  going 
to  be  paid  for  singing  in  church.  My  remark  was, 
'Well,  Solomon,  Addy  Von  Hagen  can't  help  what 
her  mother  done,'  says  I,  and  he  says,  says  he, 
'That's  sound  philosophy,  Hannah.'  And  I  reckon 
it  is,  too.  What  was  it  your  mother  used  to  do  in 
the  the-ayter?  I  never  heard  all  the  rights  of  it." 

Mrs.  Solomon  Potter  put  this  question  as 
loudly  as  her  squeaky  voice  would  permit,  for  two 
other  ladies, — Mrs.  Wilkins,  and  the  principal  of 


42  THE  CLIMAX 

the  public  school,  Miss  Crupp,  both  of  whom  be 
longed  to  the  Sewing  Circle, — had  come  up,  hungry 
for  gossip. 

John  Raymond  pressed  Adelina's  arm  gently, 
as  a  warning  to  her  to  be  silent,  for  he  read  mis 
chief  in  the  tight  lips  and  spiteful  eyes  of  the  newly- 
arrived  Sewing  Circlers,  but  the  girl  was  not  to  be 
restrained. 

"My  mother  was  an  opera  singer — a  prima 
donna,"  she  flamed  out. 

"An  op'ry-singer  ?"  echoed  Mrs.  Wilkins.  "I 
once  went  to  a  op'ry  in  Chillicothe — Wilkins  didn't 
want  to  take  me,  but  I  went  anyhow — and  it  was 
somethin'  scand'lous.  The  op'ry  was  called  'The 
Jolly  Female  Divers.'  There  was  a  lot  of  young 
women,  all  painted  up,  singin'  an'  dancin',  with 
nothin'  on  but  a — " 

"Miss  Von  Hagen,  did  your  mother  wear 
tights  on  the  stage?"  suddenly  boomed  Miss  Crupp, 
who  was  forty  years  of  age  and  a  basso. 

That  was  all.  John  Raymond  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  Taking  Adelina  and  his  sister  each  by  an 
elbow,  he  charged  the  Sewing  Circle  and  forced 
his  way  past  them,  knocked  a  few  boys  off  the 
sidewalk,  jostled  the  Reverend  Thomas  Treadhouse 
— apologizing  immediately — and  did  not  stop  until 
he  had  reached  the  head  of  the  narrow  staircase 


THE  CLIMAX  43 

leading  into  the  Town  Hall,  where  a  pale  and  pim 
ply  youth  was  taking  tickets  at  the  door. 

The  pimply  young  man  was  business  manager 
for  Professor  Cooper.  Among  his  duties  was  that 
of  submitting  himself  as  a  "subject"  for  hypnotism 
when  no  one  in  the  audience  would  volunteer.  He 
was  "very  receptive,"  the  Professor  said,  and  it  was 
a  fact  that  the  business  manager,  when  in  a  hyp 
notic  state,  went  through  more  fantastic  perform 
ances,  and  therefore  provoked  more  wonder  and 
laughter,  than  ever  were  contributed  by  an  outsider. 
The  business  manager's  name  was  Boner — Claude 
Boner. 

"You'll  have  to  get  tickets  down  stairs,"  said 
this  functionary  to  Raymond,  distractedly,  for  he 
was  overworked  and  flustered. 

As  he  spoke  Claude  Boner  thrust  forward  a 
knee,  to  prevent  a  boy  sneaking  into  the  hall  with 
out  paying,  and  at  the  same  moment  took  tickets 
from  'Squire  Morgan  for  that  portly  gentleman 
himself,  for  Mrs.  Morgan,  who  was  tall  and  slim, 
and  for  the  two  Misses  Morgan,  both  of  whom 
were  built  like  their  father. 

It  was  anything  but  an  easy  task  to  descend 
the  steep,  poky  staircase,  since  besides  that  people 
were  coming  up  in  a  solid  mob,  several  boys  were 
amusing  themselves  by  alternately  sliding  down  the 


44  THE  CLIMAX 

banister  and  running  up  the  stairs  under  the  arms 
and  among  the  legs  of  the  grown-up  folk.  The 
urchins  accompanied  their  manoeuvres  with 
snatches  of  the  latest  popular  song  to  reach  Aza- 
lia,  yelled  at  the  very  top  of  their  strident  young 
voices. 

Raymond  found  Professor  Cooper  himself  sell 
ing  tickets  through  a  square  opening  from  a  very 
small  wooden  cupboard  which  seemed  a  tight  fit 
for  the  gifted  scientist,  spare  of  figure  as  he  was. 
The  Professor  perspired  freely — as  well  he  might, 
considering  his  situation,  shut  up  in  a  breathless 
box  on  a  warm  June  evening — but  he  was  not  un 
happy,  for  tickets  were  fifty  cents  apiece,  and  they 
were  going  so  fast  that  he  saw  he  would  have  a 
large  audience. 

When  Raymond  had  fought  his  way  up  stairs 
again,  he  piloted  Adelina  and  Carrie  past  the 
harassed  Claude  Boner  into  the  low-ceiled  hall, 
and,  by  good  luck,  discovered  three  empty  chairs 
near  a  window,  which  had  been  given  up  by  three 
ladies,  one  of  whom  was  Miss  Crupp,  because  they 
were  afraid  of  "the  draught."  Miss  Crupp  would 
have  closed  the  window  if  she  could,  taking  the 
risk  of  half  suffocating  everybody.  But  the  case 
ment  was  old  and  rickety,  and  could  not  be  moved 
save  by  the  elderly  woman — at  home  with  a  tooth- 


THE  CLIMAX  45 

ache  at  that  moment — who  swept  out  the  hall  when 
she  happened  to  think  of  it,  and  who  alone  knew 
the  window's  secret.  So  Miss  Crupp  and  her 
cronies  moved  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and 
John  Raymond  commandeered  the  three  chairs. 

Adelina,  dropping  into  her  seat,  caught  the 
eye  of  Mrs.  Treadhouse,  who  smiled  and  bowed  os 
tentatiously. 

"She  won't  let  you  think  she  is  disappointed, 
if  she  can  help  it,  but  she's  boiling  within,"  ob 
served  Carrie.  "I  know  Susan  Treadhouse.  She 
can't  blind  me." 

And  as  it  has  been  well  and  often  said  that  no 
one  understands  a  woman  like  a  woman,  and  as 
Miss  Raymond  was  not  devoid  of  the  quick  per 
ception  generally  credited  to  her  sex,  it  is  to  be 
feared  there  was  something  "catty"  in  Mrs.  Tread- 
house's  friendly  recognition  of  the  young  girl  who 
would  supplant  her  in  St.  Jude's  choir. 

There  was  a  ten  minutes'  interval,  filled  in  with 
buzzing  conversation  and  shrill  boyish  cries,  and 
then  Professor  Theophilus  Cooper,  in  what  the 
Azalians  called  "a  full  dress  suit,"  wriggled  his  way 
down  one  side  of  the  crowded  room,  past  a  line  of 
standing  people  plastered  against  the  wall,  and 
reached  the  platform.  He  bowed  in  response  to  a 
burst  of  hand-clapping — boisterously  prolonged  by 
five  snickering  boys,  sitting  together,  free  from 
parental  restraint,  in  a  front  row — solemnly  drank 
a  little  water,  and  plunged  into  his  lecture. 


CHAPTER  III 

"It  is  not  madness 
That  I  have  uttered:  bring  me  to  the  test." 

Professor  Cooper  was  anything  but  the  charla 
tan  Mr.  Raymond  had  called  him.  On  the  con 
trary,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  given  to  the  sub 
ject  of  mental  phenomena  extended  and  intelligent 
study,  and  as  he  had  the  faculty  of  putting  the  in 
formation  he  possessed  into  simple  language,  with 
such  terrific  words  as  "psychopannychism,"  "hys- 
terology,"  "cerebralism"  and  "psychophysical" 
thrown  in  only  just  often  enough  to  prove  his  eru 
dition,  the  preliminary  discourse  did  not  bore  his 
hearers  so  much  as  some  of  the  more  thoughtful  of 
them  had  feared  it  would. 

But,  after  all,  it  was  the  expectation  of  wit 
nessing  experiments  and  demonstrations  that  had 
attracted  the  large  audience,  and  Professor  Cooper 
knew  that  as  well  as  anyone.  Therefore,  after  oc 
cupying  twenty  minutes'  time  in  expounding  the 
principles  of  mental  suggestion,  he  announced  that 
he  would  endeavor  to  give  an  illustration  of  the 
psychic  power  of  one  human  being  over  another  if 

46 


THE  CLIMAX  47 

some  gentleman  would  step  upon  the  platform  to 
assist  him.  There  was  a  pause,  during  which  the 
Professor,  with  a  patient  smile,  sent  an  inquiring 
gaze  roaming  over  the  audience. 

"I  wonder  if  it  would  hurt?"  was  the  whispered 
query  that  rippled  through  the  hall,  and,  as  no  one 
could  answer  it  authoritatively,  there  was  no  re 
sponse  to  the  Professor's  invitation,  although  he 
repeated  it  twice. 

This  did  not  disturb  him,  however.  He  had 
not  been  a  public  lecturer  for  years  without  acquir 
ing  an  extensive  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and 
he  was  satisfied  that  he  would  have  all  the  Azalians 
on  the  platform  he  wanted,  and  more,  too,  when 
once  he  had  broken  through  their  shyness.  To  get 
things  going,  he  made  a  sign,  unnoticed  by  the 
audience,  to  Claude  Boner,  his  business  manager, 
who  was  standing  just  inside  the  carefully-closed 
door,  waiting  to  be  called.  Claude  shuffled  down 
one  of  the  side-aisles  with  affected  diffidence,  and 
stepped  up  to  the  side  of  the  Professor  as  if  he 
never  had  seen  him  before.  Some  of  the  audience 
recognized  Claude  as  the  pimply  young  man  who 
had  taken  their  tickets  at  the  door,  but  many  did 
not,  never  having  looked  as  high  as  his  face  as  they 
passed  in — after  the  manner  of  the  public  the  civi 
lized  world  over.  If  the  "man  on  the  door"  is  a 


4S  THE  CLIMAX 

human  being,  and  not  merely  a  slot  machine,  few 
persons  admit  the  fact.  Professor  Cooper  had  ob 
served  this  peculiarity  of  human  nature,  too.  There- 
tore,  he  received  Claude  as  an  entire  stranger,  sat 
him  in  a  chair,  mesmerized  him,  and  told  him  he 
was  a  kitten,  playing  with  a  ball. 

Mr.  Boner  obediently  dropped  upon  his  hands 
and  knees,  and  sported  with  an  imaginary  ball  in 
such  a  life-like  way,  that,  as  Adelina  whispered  to 
John  Raymond,  it  was  hard  to  believe  the  young 
man's  father  was  not  an  old  tom-cat.  The  kitten 
performance  went  on  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
the  Professor  turned  his  "subject"  successively 
into  a  carpenter  sawing  wood,  a  spirited  horse  and 
a  base  ball  player.  Claude  Boner  showed  himself 
a  clever  mimic.  As  the  carpenter,  he  sawed  at  the 
seat  of  a  chair  with  the  edge  of  his  hand,  making, 
with  his  mouth,  the  sound  of  a  saw  going  through 
a  board,  knots  and  all ;  as  the  horse,  he  curvetted, 
reared  and  neighed,  and,  as  the  ball-player,  he 
made  a  tremendous  hit  to  right-field,  rushed  com 
pletely  around  the  platform,  and  wound  up  with  a 
sensational  slide  to  the  home-plate  which  drove  all 
l&ie  boys,  and  many  of  the  men,  in  the  hall,  frantic 
with  delight. 

"He's   fast   asleep,   yo»  Know,"   remarked   the 


THE  CLIMAX  49 

Professor,  gravely.  "He  doesn't  know  what  he  is 
doing.  Now,  I'll  wake  him." 

A  sharp  slap  on  the  shoulders,  accompanied 
by  a  shout,  brought  Claude  to  himself,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  looking  sheepishly  about  him,  as  if  he 
wondered  what  foolish  things  he  might  have  done. 
During  the  laughter  that  shook  the  hall,  the  Profes 
sor's  keen  eye  had  noted  several  restless  individuals 
here  and  there  in  the  rows  of  chairs,  and  he  was 
satisfied  that  some  of  them  would  come  up  to  the 
platform.  So  he  dismissed  Claude  with  a  courtly 
bow,  saying: 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  sir,  for  your  assist 
ance  in  these  scientific  experiments,  not  only  in  my 
own  name,  but  in  that  of  this  large  and  brilliant 
assemblage  of  really  remarkable  intellect  and 
beauty." 

He  waved  his  hand  to  comprehend  everybody 
in  the  hall,  and  each  and  every  Azalian  present 
took  personal  credit  for  one  or  other  of  the  natural 
gifts  bestowed  upon  them  by  the  lecturer.  It  was 
an  axiom  of  Professor  Cooper's  that  you  could  not 
lay  on  the  flattery  too  thick  if  you  had  your  audi 
ence  with  you. 

Claude  Boner  had  hardly  reached  his  own 
chair  by  the  door  when  two  half-grown  youths, 
husky,  sunbrowned  and  unimaginative,  shuffled 


5o  THE  CLIMAX 

forward,  encouraged  by  numerous  friends  of  their 
own  sex  and  age,  and  grinned  at  the  Professor. 

"Them's  the  Barber  boys,  from  Williams's 
farm,"  observed  Daddy  Wylie,  who  was  in  a  front 
row,  near  the  five  snickering  urchins,  whence  he 
had  been  taking  the  liveliest  interest  in  the  pro 
ceedings.  "I'll  bet  he  can't  do  nothin'  with  them, 
no  more'n  he  could  with  me." 

Daddy  Wylie  had  not  addressed  anyone  in  par 
ticular,  but  his  voice  had  reached  Professor  Cooper, 
who  gave  him  a  shock  by  saying,  blandly:  "If  the 
gentleman  who  has  just  spoken  will  kindly  step 
up  here,  I  should  like  to  test  the  influence  of  men 
tal  suggestion  upon  him.  I  realize  that  it  will  be 
very  difficult  to  make  an  impression  upon  so  pow 
erful  a  mind,  but,  for  that  reason,  the  experiment 
will  be  all  the  more  interesting.  Won't  you  oblige 
me?" 

The  Professor  leveled  a  long,  lean  forefinger 
at  Daddy  Wylie,  and  the  old  gentleman,  taken  en 
tirely  by  surprise,  found  himself  on  his  feet  and 
moving  toward  the  platform  before  the  lecturer 
had  finished  speaking.  Mechanically,  he  took  a 
chair  in  front  of  the  table  on  which  stood  the  white 
pitcher  of  ice-water  and  the  glass,  and  Professor 
Cooper  politely  requested  the  "Barber  boys"  to  sit 
at  the  back  for  a  few  moments.  Then  the  lecturer 


THE  CLIMAX  51 

gazed  intently  into  the  eyes,  of  Mr.  Wylie,  resolved 
to  subdue  him  if  it  could  be  done.  The  defiance  of 
the  old  man  had  put  him  on  his  mettle.  There  was 
deathly  silence. 

"If  he  can  control  old  Wylie,  it  will  convince 
me,"  murmured  John  Raymond,  below  his  breath. 

Daddy  Wylie  did  not  appear  so  confident,  now 
that  he  was  on  the  open  battle-field,  face  to  face 
with  an  enemy  whose  weapons  were  altogether 
strange  to  him.  In  the  shelter  of  the  auditorium 
he  could  criticize  without  fear  of  reprisal,  but  here 
it  was  different.  His  eyes  twinkled  anxiously  be 
hind  his  spectacles,  and  the  straggly  gray  tuft  on 
his  chin  wagged  fast,  as  he  masticated  his  tobacco 
with  nervous  rapidity. 

"I  don't  think  you  can  stop  chewing  tobacco," 
said  the  Professor,  at  last,  when  he  had  been  star 
ing  fixedly  into  Daddy  Wylie's  eyes  for  more  than 
a  minute. 

It  seemed  much  longer  to  the  breathless  spec 
tators. 

"I  don't  want  to  stop  it,"  replied  Dad,  with  a 
defiant  chuckle. 

There  were  sympathetic  giggles  from  some  of 
the  women,  and  the  two  "Barber  boys,"  behind  the 
table,  whose  faces  had  expressed  the  deepest  awe 


52  THE  CLIMAX 

during    these    mysterious    doings,    grinned    again. 
The   Professor  was   serious. 

"You  can't  stop  chewing  that  tobacco,"  he 
said,  sharply. 

"Yes,  I  can,  if  I  want  ter." 
"Then  stop  it.     But  I  say  you  can't." 
Dad    Wylie's    jaws    maintained    their    steady 
grinding,  with  the  tuft  on  his  chin  moving  rhythmi 
cally  up  and  down.    One  might  have  supposed  him 
to  be  enjoying  the  tobacco  with  the  keenest  relish, 
only  that  there  had  crept  into  his  eyes  a  quiver  of 
mingled   doubt  and   fear,   which   increased   as   the 
Professor  looked  into  them  closer  and  repeated : 
"You  can't  stop  chewing  that  tobacco." 
The  old  man  raised  his  two  arms  stiffly  from  the 
shoulders,  as  if  he  had  no  elbow-joints,  but,  some 
how,  he  could  not  get  his  hands  to  his  chin,  as  ap 
peared  to  be  his  desire,  while  his  jaw  kept  on  work 
ing  with  the  mechanical  strokes  of  a  driving-rod  in 
a   well-oiled   engine.      The    frightened   look    in    his 
eyes    intensified.      His   gaze   never   removed   itself 
from  the  face  of  the  Professor,  who,  in  his  turn., 
seemed  to  be  reading  the  very  soul  of  the  tobacco- 
chewing  Dad. 

There  was  something  decidedly  uncanny  in  it 
all.  It  was  obvious  that  Daddy  Wylie  was  not 
champing  his  tobacco  only  because  he  liked  it.  Not 


THE  CLIMAX  53 

that  he  did  not  often  keep  on  that  operation  for 
many  minutes  at  a  time  without  a  break.  But  or 
dinarily  he  could  stop  if  he  chose  to  do  so.  Now 
he  could  not.  There  was  the  horror  of  it.  The 
cool,  confident  stranger,  a  sardonic  smile  gradually 
creeping  around  the  corners  of  his  compressed  lips 
and  cutting  dry  vertical  lines  in  his  pale  cheeks, 
held  him  in  his  thrall.  Dad  could  not  have  told 
what  it  was  that  compelled  him  to  keep  on  chew 
ing.  He  only  knew  that,  while  he  would  have  liked 
to  cease,  if  only  to  shift  his  tobacco  from  one  side 
of  his  mouth  to  the  other,  he  had  no  more  power 
to  do  it  than  if  his  jaw  had  been  the  property  of 
someone  else.  He  could  not  even  change  its  speed. 
The  same  deliberate,  regular  action  with  which  he 
extracted  solace  from  his  quid  under  every-day, 
sane  conditions,  was  maintained  now  at  the  will  of 
this  insolent  Professor. 

Would  he  never  be  allowed  to  stop?  Dad  had 
been  forced  to  the  conclusion  that,  unless  the  in 
fluence  which  dominated  him  was  removed,  he 
might  have  to  continue  chewing  until  he  dropped 
from  exhaustion.  Even  then  his  jaw  might  be 
obliged  to  keep  on  working.  It  was  awful.  Then, 
how  the  people  were  laughing  at  him.  He  never 
would  hear  the  last  of  it.  He — 

Suddenly,  as  the   Professor  turned   away  and 


54  THE  CLIMAX 

smiled  complacently  at  the  audience,  Dad's  jaw 
stopped  its  labor,  and  the  wisp  of  gray  hair  was 
stilled  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  on  the 
platform.  Dad  put  one  hand  to  his  chin  and 
stroked  it  reflectively.  Then,  very  cautiously,  he 
bit  his  tobacco  once,  and  stopped.  He  tried  again, 
closing  and  opening  his  mouth  three  times  in  quick 
succession.  Yes,  it  was  all  right.  He  could  con 
trol  his  own  jaw  again.  He  worked  at  the  tobacco 
for  perhaps  ten  seconds,  and  then  ceased  with  a 
jerk.  That  satisfied  him.  He  could  chew  or  stop 
chewing,  as  it  pleased  him.  He  was  his  own  man 
once  more. 

Without  looking  at  the  Professor,  or  anyone 
else,  the  chastened  Daddy  Wylie  left  the  platform, 
made  straight  for  the  door,  and  clumped  down 
stairs  to  the  deserted  street.  There  he  put  a  fresh 
cube  of  plug  tobacco  into  his  mouth,  and,  as  he 
closed  his  teeth  upon  it,  declared,  emphatically,  to 
the  stars  and  just-rising  moon : 

"By  gravy!  I  didn't  think  he  could  do  it." 
Most  of  those  who  had  witnessed  Dad  Wylie's 
discomfiture  were  disposed  to  regard  it  as  a  good 
joke — that  and  nothing  more.  But  John  Raymond 
sat  thoughtful  amid  the  uproar  of  mirth.  He  was 
convinced  that,  however  much  trickery  there  might 
have  been  in  the  performance  of  the  ticket-taker — • 


THE  CLIMAX  55 

and  he  regarded  the  antics  of  Claude  Boner  on  the 
platform  with  more  than  suspicion — Dad  Wylie's 
subjugation  had  been  bona  fide.  He  had  kept  on 
chewing  his  tobacco  because  he  could  not  stop. 
Raymond  was  quite  sure  of  that.  Whether  the 
Professor's  control  had  been  exerted  through  tele 
pathic  suggestion,  hypnotism,  mesmerism,  or  any 
other  of  the  strange  forces  which  he  himself  had 
found  so  fascinating  a  study,  he  could  not  tell.  Dad 
might  have  yielded  merely  through  nervousness. 
Whatever  the  influence  used  by  Professor  Cooper, 
it  had  conquered  the  old  man's  stubborn  will,  and 
Raymond  wanted  to  learn  more  about  it. 

The  unceremonious  departure  of  Daddy  Wylie 
did  not  end  the  entertainment.  The  "Barber  boys" 
were  tried,  but  made  indifferent  "subjects" — per 
haps  because  they  lacked  imagination.  Then  others 
came  forward,  dozens  of  them — men,  women  and 
children — all  eager  for  an  experience  they  never 
had  hoped  to  have,  and  which  was  none  the  less 
attractive  because  it  would  afford,  perhaps,  a 
glimpse  into  another  world.  This  was  the  idea  that 
had  gained  ground,  especially  among  the  feminine 
element,  and  there  were  few  women  in  the  hall 
who  did  not  offer  to  put  themselves  .into  Professor 
Cooper's  hands.  Those  few  held  back  only  because 
they  were  afraid.  So  more  people  went  up  to  the 


56  THE  CLIMAX 

platform  than  the  Professor  could  deal  with,  and 
when,  at  eleven  o'clock,  he  announced  that  it  was 
too  late  to  make  any  more  demonstrations,  there 
were  at  least  a  score  of  disappointed  fair  ones,  in 
cluding  the  deep-voiced  Miss  Crupp. 

"Well,  I  hope  you  are  both  convinced  that 
there  is  something  in  mental  suggestion,"  said  Ray 
mond,  afterward,  as,  with  his  sister  on  one  arm 
and  Adelina  on  the  other,  he  flying-wedged  his  way 
through  the  wonder-stricken,  gossiping  throngs 
outside  the  hall. 

"I  thought  it  rather  silly,"  declared  Adelina. 
"And  rough.  I  felt  sorry  for  Mr.  Wylie.  Besides, 
there  should  have  been  some  music.  It  would  have 
brightened  it  up." 

"Lectures  are  not  supposed  to  be  bright,"  said 
Carrie,  rebukingly.  "I  have  learned  a  great  deal 
to-night,  and  I  am  grateful.  I  must  say,  though, 
that  I  never  saw  such  a  hat  as  Miss  Crupp  had  on. 
All  the  trimming  was  from  the  hat  she  wore  the 
winter  before  last,  and  that  green  ribbon  used  to 
be  yellow  before  she  had  it  dyed  in  the  spring.  I 
know  it  by  the  black  ink-spot.  She's  put  a  bow 
over  it  to  hide  it,  but  I  saw  it  at  once  when  she 
moved  away  from  that  chair." 

Carrie  mentioned  other  millinery  she  had  ob 
served,  and,  as  none  of  it  met  with  her  unqualified 


THE  CLIMAX  57 

approval,  it  kept  her  talking  until  they  reached 
their  own  quiet  street,  where  the  moonlight  was 
working  black-and-white  embroidery  on  the  picket- 
fences  under  the  elms.  The  trio  stopped  at  the 
Raymond  garden  gate,  and  Carrie  said: 

"I'll  run  up  to  the  house,  John,  while  you  take 
Adelina  home.  Good  night,  Addie.  I'm  sorry  you 
didn't  like  the  lecture.  It  has  given  me  a  great 
deal  of  food  for  serious  thought.  Good  night." 

While  Miss  Raymond  hurried  indoors,  to  tell 
her  father  as  much  about  the  lecture  as  she  could 
recall,  her  brother  and  Adelina  walked  slowly  to 
the  next  gate  and  stood  there,  hand  in  hand.  There 
was  no  particular  reason  for  his  holding  her  hand. 
It  just  happened  so.  He  had  seized  the  top  of  the 
gate,  to  pull  it  open,  and  had  met  her  fingers  as 
they  clasped  one  of  the  pickets  with  the  same  pur 
pose.  He  had  closed  his  fingers  around  hers  and 
drawn  them  away,  saying: 

"I'll  open  the  gate.    It's  too  heavy  for  you." 

Humbug !  The  crazy  old  gate  had  hung  there 
for  twenty  years,  and  every  drop  of  weight-giving 
sap  had  dried  out  long  ago.  It  was  almost  as  light 
as  if  it  were  made  of  cardboard.  Moreover,  its 
hinges  were  new — had  been  put  on  by  Azalia's 
leading  carpenter  less  than  a  week  before — and 
were  so  well  oiled  that  they  operated  without  a 


58  THE  CLIMAX 

ghost  of  a  creak  and  were  practically  automatic. 
Even  the  light  touch  of  the  girl's  finger-tips  had 
swung  the  gate  open  an  inch  or  two.  But  any  ex 
cuse  would  do  for  John  Raymond  as  he  looked 
down  at  her  pretty  face,  dimpling  in  the  shadow- 
flecked  moonlight,  under  the  waving  elms.  He 
had  her  hand,  and  there  was  no  reason  why  he 
should  let  it  go. 

The  voices  of  the  home-going  people  on  Main 
street  came  to  them  in  a  musical  murmur,  the 
sharpness  of  the  women's  tones  and  the  growls  of 
the  men  all  fused  by  distance  into  a  low  harmony. 
There  was  a  nightingale  singing  somewhere.  A 
select  company  of  frogs  were  holding  a  conver 
sazione  down  by  the  creek.  And  through  it  all  mur 
mured  the  rustling  of  leaves,  the  hum  of  insects — 
the  thousand-and-one  sounds  that  give  tune  to  a 
midsummer  night. 

"I  must  go  in/'  said  Adelina,  when  he  had 
stood  holding  her  hand  for  some  moments,  resist 
ing  with  difficulty  an  impulse  to  put  his  arm  around 
her  waist.  "It  is  very  late,  and  father  may  be  wait 
ing  for  me." 

"Don't  you  think  he  has  gone  to  bed?" 

"Yes,  but  he  may  be  awake,  listening  for  me 
to  come  in.  Good  night." 

She  moved  slightly,  as  if  to  open  the  gate,  but 


THE  CLIMAX  59 

did  not  draw  her  fingers  out  of  his  grasp.  He  was 
afraid  she  might,  so  he  tightened  his  hold.  He 
•wanted  to  say  something  before  they  parted,  and  he 
felt  that  the  words  would  come  easier'  if  he  kept 
her  hand  in  his. 

"I  am  going  to  walk  up  to  the  porch  with  you," 
he  told  her.  "There  might  be  some  stranger — a 
tramp — hiding  behind  the  rose-bushes." 

She  laughed  softly. 

"There  hasn't  been  a  tramp  in  Azalia  this  sum 
mer,  John.  'Squire  Morgan  set  so  many  of  them 
to  breaking  stones  last  year,  that  they  don't  come 
now.  The  'Squire  says  they've  all  heard  what  they 
may  expect,  and  they  have  blotted  Azalia  from 
their  visiting-list." 

He  remaind  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
when  he  did  speak  it  was  not  in  answer  to  her  play 
ful  remarks  about  tramps,  but  a  sudden  question 
which  had  no  reference  to  anything  they  had  been 
saying,  and  therefore  took  her  by  surprise : 

"Addie,  don't  3>-ou  think  you  could  be  happy 
in  Azalia  all  your  life,  even  though  there  are  no 
theatres  here?" 

He  bent  down  quickly,  trying  to  make  out  the 
expression  of  her  face  through  the  confusion  of 
dancing  shadows.  It  showed  nothing  but  amuse 
ment,  as  she  replied  with- another  query: 


60  THE  CLIMAX 

"Do  you  think  you  ever  could  become  the  great 
physician  and  surgeon  you  want  to  be — and  will 
fee — without  studying  in  city  hospitals  and  attend 
ing  lectures  in  the  famous  medical  colleges?" 

"I  asked  you  my  question  because  I  love  you, 
Adelina." 

"And  I  didn't  answer  it  because  I — " 

"Yes?" 

"Oh,  nothing.     I  really  must  go  in." 

There  was  no  impatience  in  her  tones,  and  the 
amused  smile  still  shone  in  her  eyes,  as  she  opened 
the  gate  with  her  free  hand,  while  he  still  held  the 
other.  He  wished  she  had  finished  her  sentence, 
and  yet,  as  he  told  himself,  perhaps  her  breaking 
it  off  was  indicative  of  the  uncertainty  of  her 
mind.  If  only  there  were  some  way  of  bringing 
fcer  to  a  decision — some  way !  He  let  go  of  her 
hand. 

"How  sweet  the  roses  are,"  she  said,  softly. 
"You  get  the  scent  of  them  so  much  stronger  in  the 
evening  than  in  daylight.  And  the  pansies !  They 
seem  to  be  fighting  with  the  roses  for  notice.  Oh, 
I  am  right  on  the  edge  of  the  pansy-bed.  Another 
step  and  I  might  have  walked  over  them.  That 
would  have  been  dreadful — to  crush  heart's-ease 
out  of  existence,  wouldn't  it?" 

Whatever  his  opinion,  he  did  not  express  it, 


THE  CLIMAX  61 

and  as  they  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the/three  broad 
steps  leading  to  the  porch,  she  turned  to  him,  and 
taking  both  of  his  hands  in  hers,  whispered: 

"Good  night."  Then,  after  a  pause:  "Don't 
worry.  I'm  not  worth  it.  No  girl  is." 

But  he  did  not  agree  with  her  in  this,  and  long 
after  she  had  gone  to  her  own  pretty  room,  where 
her  mother's  old  opera  scores  were  piled  up  on  a 
table  close  to  her  bedside,  and  where  the  sweet 
breatk  of  the  pansies  came  all  night  through  the 
open  window,  John  Raymond  sat  in  Professor 
Cooper's  room  at  Granger's  Hotel,  talking  earn 
estly. 

"Then  you  believe  it  possible  to  influence  at 
will,  by  this  science,  a  mind  bent  for  years  in  a 
certain  direction?"  asked  Raymond,  at  last,  as  he 
arose  to  go. 

"Undoubtedly,"  replied  the  Professor. 

"Permanently?" 

"I  do  not  say  that." 

John  Raymond  left  the  hotel  and  walked  slowly 
home.  He  could  not  follow  Adelina's  advice.  He 
was  still  worrying. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  choir  below." 

It  was  Thursday  when  the  music  committee 
announced  to  Adelina  that  she  had  been  chosen  to 
sing  soprano  parts  and  solos  at  St.  Jude's,  in  place 
of  Mrs.  Treadhouse.  All  three  members  of  the 
committee  had  been  at  Professor  Cooper's  lecture 
that  evening,  and  just  as  Adelina  was  leaving  the 
hall  'Squire  Morgan  had  worked  his  way  to  her  in. 
the  crowd  and  advised  her  to  go  to  the  church  the 
next  night  and  notice  how  choir  practice  was  con 
ducted. 

"You  might  get  a  pointer  or  two  from  Mrs. 
Treadhouse,"  the  'Squire  had  suggested.  "She  may 
not  be  much  of  a  singer,  but  she  knows  how  to  hold 
her  music-book,  and  there  ain't  no  one  going  to 
beat  her  at  bringing  in  'A-h-h-men !'  at  the  right 
time  with  the  others." 

"That's  true,"  assented  Dr.  Simmons,  who  had 
been  hurled  over  to  them  by  the  crush  of  home- 

62 


THE  CLIMAX  63 

goers,  most  of  them  battling  to  get  out  as  if  the 
hall  were  on  fire.  "Mrs.  Treadhouse  has  always 
kept  the  choir  straight.  If  young  Schwartz  were  to 
be  the  least  bit  too  soon  or  too  late  with  his  tenor, 
I  believe  she  would  throw  him  clear  out  of  the  gal 
lery." 

Adolph  Schwartz,  who  sang  tenor  in  the  choir 
on  Sundays,  but  throughout  the  week  acted  as 
clerk  and  soda-water  dispenser  in  Root's  drug 
store,  was  yellow-haired  and  mild-mannered,  and 
Dr.  Simmons  laughed  as  he  pictured  the  surprised 
young  man  going  head-first  over  the  front  of  the 
gallery  into  one  of  the  pews  below.  Adelina 
laughed,  too,  for  Adolph  was  a  perpetual  annoyance 
to  her  in  a  small  way.  He  was  a  persistent  ad 
mirer,  and  having  a  high  opinion  of  his  personal 
attractions,  never  could  understand  a  snub. 

"I'll  go  to  choir  practice  with  my  father  to-mor 
row  night,"  she  told  the  'Squire. 

So,  when  Heinrich  Von  Hagen,  on  Friday 
evening,  gathered  up  his  church  music,  grumblingly 
— after  putting  his  precious  Amati,  which  he  had 
been  playing,  into  its  battered  case — and  went 
down  to  the  church  to  preside  at  the  organ,  Adelina 
accompanied  him. 

St.  Jude's  organ  was  an  old-fashioned  affair, 
with  two  banks  of  keys  and  a  hand-pump  for  the 


64  THE  CLIMAX 

wind.  It  stood  in  the  choir  gallery,  by  the  side  of 
the  pulpit,  and  the  organist  sat  with  his  back  to 
the  faded  red  curtains  which  hid  him  from  the  con 
gregation.  A  mirror  over  the  music-desk  enabled 
kim  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  minister,  so  that  he  could 
follow  the  service  and  always  be  ready  to  play 
when  required.  The  choir  had  its  row  of  four 
chairs  on  his  right,  between  him  and  the  pulpit. 
They,  too,  were  screened  behind  red  curtains  when 
seated,  but  bobbed  up  into  view  when  they  got  on 
their  feet  to  sing. 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  had  several  sources  of  an 
noyance  in  connection  with  his  duties  as  organist. 
The  worst  of  them  all  was  the  difficulty  in  obtain 
ing  an  adequate  and  even  supply  of  wind  for  the 
instrument.  Solomon  Potter,  as  the  sexton,  was 
responsible  for  the  proper  performance  of  the  or 
gan-bellows.  He  never  had  been  able  to  find  a 
steady  operator,  but  was  obliged  to  depend  on  the 
fugitive  services  of  any  youth  who  was  willing  to 
do  the  work  for  the  modest  remuneration  allowed 
fey  the  music  committee.  The  tariff  was  twenty- 
fiye  cents  for  each  service  on  Sunday,  and  fifteen 
cents  for  choir  practice  on  Friday. 

The  labor  was  very  hard.  Indeed  there  was  a 
popular  belief  that  no  other  organ  in  the  United 
States  had  such  a  stiff,  heavy  pump-handle  as  this 


THE  CLIMAX  65 

one  in  St.  Jude's  Church.  The  ''assistant  organist," 
as  the  pumper  was  styled  by  the  music  committee, 
had  to  squeeze  himself  into  a  narrow,  dusty  space 
behind  the  organ,  and  there  move  a  creaking 
wooden  bar  up  and  down  as  long  as  the  music  con 
tinued.  On  the  wall,  before  his  eyes,  was  the 
gauge.  This  consisted  of  a  series  of  lateral  strokes, 
numbered  from  "o"  at  the  top  to  "15"  at  the  bot 
tom.  A  small  oblong  leaden  weight,  suspended  on 
a  string,  ascended  rapidly  as  the  air  was  exhausted 
in  the  pipes,  and  it  was  the  business  of  the  "assist 
ant  organist"  to  see  that  the  bottom  of  the  weight 
stayed  a  long  way  below  the  "o."  That  meant  he 
must  continually  pump,  pump,  pump.  When  a  suc 
cession  of  loud  chords  were  played,  it  was  heart 
breaking  labor  for  the  pumper,  and  even  in  ordi 
nary  passages  the  weight  had  a  cruel  habit  of  glid 
ing  swiftly  to  the  top  if,  in  his  weariness,  he  stopped 
for  a  moment  or  two. 

Since  all  the  boys  and  young  men  in  town 
were  familiar  with  the  severity  of  the  toil,  none  of 
them  would  undertake  it  unless  they  were  in  sore 
need  of  money,  and  many  a  time  was  Solomon  Pot 
ter  obliged  to  climb  into  the  little  cupboard  him 
self,  to  pump  the  organ  full  of  wind  and  himself 
full  of  dust,  because  there  was  no  one  else  to  do 
it,  and  Von  Hagen  was  raving  at  the  keyboard.  It 


66  THE  CLIMAX 

was  so  at  this  rehearsal,  and  Adelina  fancied  she 
could  hear  the  sexton  grunting  and  wheezing  at 
his  hated  task  all  through  the  music. 

Susan  Treadhouse,  who  was  in  the  church 
when  they  arrived,  greeted  Adelina  with  effusive 
affection,  while  Mile.  Marie  Connor,  the  contralto 
(who  taught  singing  and  kept  a  millinery  estab 
lishment  in  Buckeye  street),  and  Saul  Hunter,  the 
basso,  bowed  somewhat  distantly.  They  were  not 
sure  that  it  would  please  Mrs.  Treadhouse  if  they 
were  too  warm  toward  the  new  soprano,  her  own 
enthusiastic  welcome  notwithstanding.  Adolph 
Schwartz  was  more  in  awe  of  the  pastor's  wife 
than  the  others  in  the  choir,  but  his  desire  to  stand 
well  with  Adelina  overcame  his  fear  of  Mrs.  Tread- 
house's  censure,  and  he  favored  the  girl  with  a 
series  of  his  most  killing  smiles  from  beginning  to 
end  of  the  rehearsal. 

Adolph  Schwartz  was  short  and  slim,  Mrs. 
Treadhouse  of  about  the  same  height  as  Adolph, 
while  Mile.  Marie  Connor  was  tall,  and  Saul  Hun 
ter,  eldest  son  of  the  farmer  whose  barn  marked 
the  turn  of  the  pike,  towered  above  the  contralto, 
and  was  broad-shouldered  in  proportion.  He 
worked  hard  on  his  father's  farm  on  week-days, 
and  the  deep  voice  which  served  so  well  in  the 


THE  CLIMAX  67 

choir  was  useful  also  in  urging  on  plow-horses  and 
shouting  to  hired  men  across  ten-acre  fields. 

Adelina  did  not  learn  anything  in  particular 
at  the  rehearsal  except  that  Mrs.  Susan  Treadhouse 
hated  her,  as  a  rival,  with  all  the  intensity  of  a 
small  mind.  This  was  evidenced  when,  her  voice 
having  broken  as  she  strove  to  reach  a  high  "A," 
Mrs.  Treadhouse  looked  across  to  Von  Hagen — 
fingering  the  keys  dispassionately,  while  his  eyes 
were  glued  to  the  music  before  him — and  blurted, 
in  vinegary  accents: 

"You  ought  to  save  this  solo  for  Sunday  week. 
It  is  the  kind  of  thing  that  only  an  actress  can  do 
properly." 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  shrugged  his  shoulders 
impatiently,  and  growled  :  "Hein  !  Sing." 

Adelina  could  not  prevent  a  quick  flush  spread 
ing  over  her  cheeks,  but  that  was  the  only  sign 
she  gave  of  the  cruel  agony  which  shot  through  her. 
Not  for  herself  alone  would  she  have  cared.  But 
well  she  knew  that  the  anaemic  Susan  had  had  her 
mother  in  mind,  and  that  the  taunt  had  been 
barbed,  so  that  it  would  make  a  double  wound  in 
her  breast,  tearing  ruthlessly  through  her  dearest 
and  most  sacred  memories. 

Probably  no  one  but  Mrs.  Treadhouse  and  the 
girl  realized  the  significance  of  the  thrust.  Adolph 


68  THE  CLIMAX 

was  smirking  at  Adelina.  Mile.  Marie  Connor  was 
reviewing  in  her  mind  some  important  millinery 
details,  and  trying  to  decide  whether  she  should 
trim  her  fall  hat  with  feathers  or  flowers.  As  for 
Saul  Hunter,  he  had  been  absorbed  in  the  bass  part 
of  the  trio  he  was  to  sing  with  the  contralto  and 
tenor  ever  since  he  had  entered  the  gallery,  to  the 
exclusion  of  everything  else.  None  of  them  had 
heeded  the  spiteful  outbrust.  Most  likely  they  had 
not  even  heard  it.  After  her  first  angry  moment 
Mrs.  Treadhouse  regretted  that  she  had  lost  her 
temper.  She  even  smiled  graciously  at  Adelina, 
as  if  to  assure  her  that  she  had  meant  no  covert 
attack  in  what  she  had  said.  But  the  girl,  sore  at 
heart,  turned  away,  and  without  saying  anything 
to  her  father,  left  the  church  and  went  home. 
Heinrich  Von  Hagen  never  missed  her. 

Adelina  went  to  church  on  Sunday,  and  if  she 
paid  greater  attention  to  the  singing  than  to  the 
rather  heavy  sermon,  it  was  only  natural.  She  had 
more  personal  interest  in  the  methods  of  the  choir 
of  which  she  was  so  soon  to  be  a  part  than  in  po 
lemical  theology  as  expounded  by  the  Reverend 
Thomas  Treadhouse.  He  was  generally  more 
soporific  than  convincing.  Susan  Treadhouse  got 
through  her  solo  somehow,  not  without  a  little 
trouble  with  that  high  "A,"  and  the  remainder  of 


THE  CLIMAX  69 

the  musical  service  was  accomplished  smoothly. 
Adelina  decided  that  she  would  find  it  all  very 
easy. 

"Next  Sunday  you  Avill  be  in  the  choir,"  John 
Raymond  reminded  her,  as  he  joined  her  outside 
the  church,  ready  to  accompany  her  home. 

The  June  sunshine  was  warm  and  grateful  after 
the  semi-gloom  and  chill  within,  for  St.  Jude's  was 
built  before  the  era  of  ultra-comfortable  churches, 
especially  in  country  towns,  and  there  were  threats 
of  rheumatism  and  malaria  in  its  damp  brick  walls 
and  miasmatic  cellar  even  in  summer. 

"Yes,  but  I  shall  not  sing  a  solo.  It  would 
not  be  the  soprano's  turn,  for  one  thing,  and  I  am 
glad  of  it." 

"The  music  would  not  be  very  difficult,  would 
it?" 

"No,  but  I  want  to  become  used  to  my  sur 
roundings  before  I  sing  alone.  You  must  permit 
a  little  stage-fright  even  to  a  church  chorister.  Mr. 
Hunter  will  have  a  bass  solo  in  the  morning,  and 
Miss  Connor  will  sing  in  the  evening.  On  the  next 
Sunday  morning  I  shall  have  to  stand  up  before  the 
critical  congregation  and  endeavor  to  get  through 
a  solo  without  breaking  on  the  'A/  " 

Well,  of  course,  it  was  unkind  in  Adelina  to 
refer  to  the  vocal  weakness  of  Susan  Treadhouse. 


70  THE  CLIMAX 

But  it  is  not  pretended  that  this  girl  was  superior 
to  ordinary  human  emotions,  and  it  must  be  ad' 
mittcd  that  she  had  reason  for  resentment. 

"There  is  a  strict  code  of  ethics  in  church 
choirs,  isn't  there?"  remarked  John  Raymond.  "I 
suppose  there  would  be  trouble  if  anyone  in  the 
quartette  were  to  sing  a  solo  out  of  turn." 

"It  would  mean  a  revolution,  unless  a  special 
arrangement  were  made,"  she  laughed.  "I  shall 
sing  in  the  morning,  instead  of  in  the  evening,  but 
that  is  because  Adolph  Schwartz,  to  whom  the 
morning  solo  belongs,  insists  on  standing  aside  for 
me.  It  is  considered  more  desirable  to  sing  in  the 
morning  than  the  evening,  and  he  solemnly  swore 
that  if  I  did  not  accept  the  morning  for  my  first 
solo  he  would  stay  away  and  send  a  substitute, 
which  would  compel  me  to  take  the  place  of  honor. 
So,  what  could  I  do?" 

He  looked  at  her,  radiant  in  her  shimmering 
summer  frock,  with  a  cluster  of  pansies  nestling 
among  the  soft  laces  on  her  bosom,  and  her  blue- 
gray  eyes  glancing  demurely  at  him  from  beneath 
the  wide  brim  of  her  white  straw  hat,  and  he  could 
not  help  hating  Adolph  Schwartz,  as  he  thought 
what  a  ravishing  picture  she  would  make  behind  the 
faded  red  curtains  in  the  dingy  old  choir  gallery. 

When,  on  the  following  Sunday,  he  saw  her  in 


THE  CLIMAX  7* 

her  place  in  the  quartette,  as  she  stood  up,  for  the 
first  time,  to  join  in  the  "Venite  exultemus  Dom 
ino,"  and  her  clear,  ringing  tones  mingled  with  the 
others  in  the  stirring  exhortation,  "O,  come,  let  us 
sing  unto  the  Lord !"  he  wondered  vaguely  whether 
it  was  wicked  to  liken  her  to  an  angel  who  had 
been  permitted  to  descend  to  the  earth  for  a  space, 
to  make  it  better  and  brighter.  If  this  was  a  fool 
ish  thought,  let  it  be  remembered  that  John  Ray 
mond  was  very  much  in  love  with  Adelina  Von 
Hagen. 

He  did  not  entertain  the  thought  very  long,  for 
even  as  he  looked,  a  vision  of  an  eager-faced  young 
girl,  but  in  the  gorgeous  robes  and  false  jewels  of 
the  theatre,  blotted  out  the  real  Adelina.  She  was 
singing,  as  earnestly  as  now,  to  some  commonplace 
actor,  whose  only  recommendation  was  the  posses 
sion  of  a  powerful,  well-trained  voice.  He  could 
have  cried  with  the  pain  of  it.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  she  would  thus  degrade  her  heavenly  gift  of 
song?  And  if  she  meant  to  do  it,  was  there  no 
way  of  rescuing  her?  Sooner  or  later,  he  knew, 
she  would  seek  to  shake  off  the  safe,  humdrum  ex 
istence  of  this  little  corner  of  the  world — so  insig 
nificant  that  it  was  not  on  many  maps,  even  of 
Ohio  alone — and  go  forth  to  conquer,  as  her  mother 
had  done  more  than  twenty  years  before.  Then, 


72  THE  CLIMAX 

perhaps,  he  would  lose  her.  After  all,  was  not  that 
his  principal  objection?  Perhaps;  but  he  would  not 
confess  it  even  to  himself.  He  was  trying  to  argue 
it  out  in  his  mind  when  the  last  stanza  of  the  an 
them,  in  which  he  could  hear  Adelina's  voice  high 
above  the  others,  seemed  to  demand  by  what  right 
he  dared  to  sit  in  judgment  on  her  actions: 

"For  He  cometh,  for  He  cometh  to  judge  the 
earth:  and  with  righteousness  to  judge  the  world 
and  the  people  with  His  truth." 

There  was  his  answer.  He  felt  it  even  before 
he  had  caught  her  eye  for  a  flash  of  a  second,  as 
she  joined  in  the  "Amen."  That  look  seemed  to 
ask  him  whether  he  had  noted  the  significance  of 
the  words — whether  he  understood  that,  if  she  was 
to  be  condemned,  it  must  be  by  a  much  higher 
power  than  he.  Perhaps  she  did  not  mean  that.  It 
may  have  been  that  her  gaze  rested  upon  him  for 
an  instant  by  accident,  or  that,  if  she  had  sought 
him  purposely,  it  was  to  read  in  his  face  whether 
or  not  he  was  pleased  with  her  first  public  effort 
as  a  member  of  St.  Jude's  choir.  But  he  could 
place  only  one  interpretation  upon  her  glance,  and 
it  humbled  him,  as  he  felt,  to  his  betterment.  It 
brought  to  his  mind  a  Scriptural  injunction  to 
which  he  had  given  too  little  heed  in  his  life: 
"Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged." 


THE  CLIMAX  73 

Mrs.  Susan  Treadhouse  sat  in  a  front  pew,  her 
hatchet  face  wearing  an  expression  of  resignation, 
but  she  never  looked  at  Adelina.  It  may  be  that 
the  sight  of  someone  else  in  the  place  she  had  oc 
cupied  for  so  long  would  have  been  too  much  for 
her  equanimity,  and  might  have  brought  on  an  out 
break  and  a  scandal.  So  she  watched  her  husband 
whenever  the  choir  sang,  only  suffering  her  atten 
tion  to  wander  during  the  sermon,  when  the  quar 
tette  was  out  of  sight  behind  the  curtains.  Withal 
she  did  not  miss  a  note  sung  by  Adelina. 

What  Mrs.  Treadhouse  thought  of  the  new  so 
prano's  work  was  her  own  secret.  What  she  said 
to  the  Reverend  Thomas,  in  the  privacy  of  their 
home,  after  the  service,  was :  "If  Adelina  Von 
Hagen  could  spend  a  few  years  in  Cincinnati,  under 
a  thoroughly  competent  teacher,  and  practice 
breathing  exercises  six  hours  a  day  all  that  time, 
she  might  eventually  be  able  to  sing.  I  don't  say 
she  would,  but  she  might.  There  is  some  strength 
in  her  voice,  but  it  is  dreadfully  harsh  and  un 
trained."  Which  was  not  only  spiteful,  but  utterly 
untrue.  Her  husband  was  wise  enough  to  nod  tol 
erantly,  without  commiting  himself  in  speech. 

Adolph  Schwartz,  the  tenor,  sitting  next  to  the 
soprano,  as  is  customary,  had  the  felicity  of  finding 
the  places  for  her  in  her  music-books,  and,  with 


74  THE  CLIMAX 

much  tender  whispering,  giving  her  hints  that,  were 
entirely  superfluous,  since  she  knew  as  much  about 
it  all  as  he  did.  But  the  opportunity  to  talk  confi 
dentially  to  her  behind  the  red  curtains  was  too 
precious  to  be  lost.  Adolph  was  of  a  poetical  turn 
of  mind,  and  he  almost  persuaded  himself  that  they 
two  were  alone,  as  in  a  fairy  coral  grotto  (the  red 
curtains  suggested  the  coral  fancy),  shut  off  from 
all  the  great  coarse  world,  and  in  the  close  com 
munion  so  sweet  to  kindred  souls.  The  fact  that 
Mile.  Marie  Connor  and  the  husky  Saul  Hunter 
were  in  the  grotto  with  them,  and  that  Adelina 
could  not  hide  entirely  the  boredom  she  felt,  did 
not  disconcert  Adolph  in  the  least.  She  was  his — 
for  the  time,  and  when  afterward,  as  they  all  stood 
up  to  sing,  he  perceived  John  Raymond  looking  at 
him  as  if  he  would  like  to  knock  his  well-groomed 
yellow  head  off,  his  bosom  filled  with  holy  joy.  Let 
Raymond  fume  as  he  might,  he  could  not  come 
into  the  choir  gallery,  and  Adelina  would  be 
Adolph's  own  for  hours  every  Sunday,  as  she  was 
to-day. 

The  morning  service  came  to  an  end  at  last, 
and  John  lost  no  time  in  taking  possession  of  Ade 
lina,  to  the  discomfiture  of  Adolph,  who  had  in 
veigled  her  out  of  the  side  door  reserved  for  the 
choir  and  minister.  But  Raymond  was  waiting 


THE  CLIMAX  75 

for  her  and  took  her  as  a  matter  of  course,  while 
Adolph  trailed  along  in  the  rear  with  her  father, 
who  was  not  in  good  humor,  for  the  pumping  had 
been  very  bad. 

"How  do  you  like  it,  Adelina?"  asked  John 
Raymond,  as  they  walked  along  by  the  white 
fences,  under  the  elms.  "Do  you  think  you  will 
tire  of  singing  every  Sunday?" 

"Tire  of  it?  Oh,  John,  I  never  could  tire  of 
singing,  and  it  is  rather  nice  to  do  it  in  public,  with 
everybody  listening  to  your  voice.  I  am  looking 
forward  to  next  Sunday,  when  I  shall  do  my 
solo.  But  think  what  it  must  be  to  sing  before  five 
thousand  people,  instead  of  three  hundred.  My 
mother  used  to  tell  me  that  at  La  Scala,  in  Milan, 
she  had  seen  five  thousand  in  the  audience,  on  im 
portant  opera  nights.  Mustn't  it  have  been  glori 
ous?" 

"I  have  heard  that  La  Scala  is  a  large  build 
ing,"  said  John  Raymond,  dryly. 


CHAPTER  V 

"Ah,  Love!    Could  you  and  I  with  Him  conspire 
To  grasp  this  sorry  scheme  of  things  entire, 
Would  not  we  shatter  it  to  bits — and  then 
Re-mould  it  nearer  to  the  heart's  desire?" 

Quite  naturally,  chat  over  the  one  o'clock  din 
ner-tables  in  Azalia  on  that  Sunday  had  for  its 
main  topic  the  new  soprano  of  St.  Jude's.  It  was 
the  more  interesting,  as  the  diners  said,  because  she 
was  one  of  themselves.  Azalia  was  opulent  of  local 
pride.  One  of  the  common  expressions  was  "We 
always  take  care  of  our  own."  So  Adelina  "got  it 
going  and  coming."  Not  only  was  her  singing  duly 
criticised,  but  her  personal  appearance  went 
through  the  mill  of  expert  feminine  comment,  and 
came  out  ground  exceeding  small.  Her  costume, 
and  particularly  her  hat,  were  the  subject  of  de 
tailed  censure  by  "mother"  and  "the  girls,"  as  they 
handed  around  the  baked  potatoes  and  string- 
beans,  and  saw,  with  respectful  solicitude,  that 
"father's"  plate  was  kept  well  supplied  with  roast 
beef — the  staple  Sunday  dinner  meat  in  Azalia. 

Nowhere  was  Adelina  more  thoroughly  vivi- 
76 


THE  CLIMAX  77 

sected  than  in  the  living-room  behind  the  under 
taker  shop  of  Solomon  Potter,  the  sexton.  Mr.  Pot 
ter  had  been  obliged  to  pump  the  organ  that  morn 
ing,  and  when  he  had  at  last  been  delivered  from 
the  dusty  little  cupboard,  it  was  as  a  disheveled, 
dirty,  muscle-sore  rapscallion — hardly  to  be  recog 
nized  as  the  dignified  individual,  in  immaculate 
white  shirt  and  collar  and  carefully-knotted  sky- 
blue  necktie,  who  had  gone  to  his  grimy  doom  an 
hour  or  so  before.  He  was  swallowing  his  meal  in 
such  a  disgusted  frame  of  mind  that  it  must  have 
interfered  with  his  digestion. 

"Those  boys  are  never  on  hand  when  they're 
wanted,"  he  growled,  between  mouthfuls,  "and  old 
Von  Hagen  keeps  that  organ  going,  playing  those 
tarra-liddles  of  his  when  there's  no  singing,  and 
using  up  the  wind  as  if  it  pumped  itself." 

"It's  too  bad,"  responded  Mrs.  Potter,  sympa 
thetically.  "I  hope  you  won't  have  to  do  it  to 
night." 

"I  won't.  That's  flat.  If  there  ain't  no  boy 
there  won't  be  no  music,"  declared  Mr.  Potter,  his 
anger  driving  him  to  double  negatives.  "I  reckon 
Addie  Von  Hagen  can  sing  without  the  organ  if 
she  has  to." 

With  that  the  sexton  relapsed  into  silence  and 
gave  undivided  attention  to  his  dinner.  Mr.  and 


78  THE  CLIMAX 

Mrs.  Potter  were  dining  alone.  They  had  no  chil 
dren,  and  Mrs.  Potter's  younger  sister,  who  lived 
with  them  ordinarily,  was  away  on  a  visit  to  Cir- 
cleville. 

"There  ain't  no  one  sayin'  as  Addie  can't 
sing,"  remarked  Mrs.  Potter,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  she  had  been  ruminating  over  her  husband's 
last  words.  "But  ever  since  I  heerd  her  mother 
belonged  to  a  the-ayter  troupe  I've  had  my  doubts 
about  her.  I  never  thought  she'd  be  allowed  to 
sing  in  our  church  choir." 

"H'm !" 

"Yes,  I  know,  Solomon  Potter.  You  think  Ad 
die  Von  Hagen  is  purty  nigh  perfection.  But 
there's  them  as  believes  she'll  go  off  like  her  mother 
some  day,  and  you  can't  deny,  as  a  Christian,  that 
play-actin'  is  godless,  any  way  you  look  at  it." 

"Well,  when  she  does  it  will  be  time  enough  to 
talk  about  it,"  rejoined  Solomon,  pushing  away  his 
empty  plate.  "Any  dessert?" 

"Yes,  there's  some  strawberries  and  cream.  I 
put  'em  out  in  the  shop,  so  they'd  keep  cool,  with 
out  me  havin'  to  go  down  to  the  cellar." 

The  good  lady  went  into  the  darkened  shop, 
where  two  long  boxes  standing  upright  against  the 
wall,  and  another  one,  cloth-covered  and  silver- 
handled,  lying  at  full  length  upon  a  pair  of  black 


THE  CLIMAX  79 

trestles,  loomed  up  ghastly  in  the  shadows.  Mrs. 
Potter  had  been  an  undertaker's  wife  too  long  to 
give  way  to  superstitious  shudders  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  few  "caskets,"  finished  or  otherwise.  She 
went  to  a  wide  shelf  in  one  corner,  where  lay  a 
baby's  coffin,  in  naked,  "untrimmed"  woodenness. 
Lifting  the  lid,  she  brought  forth  a  glass  dish  of 
strawberries  and  a  pitcher  of  cream. 

"I  had  to  put  on  the  lid,"  she  explained,  "or  the 
cat  might  have  got  into  the  cream.  These  are 
good  strawberries,  and  I  think  you'll  like  'em.  Ah ! 
The  baby  that'll  go  into  that  casket  won't  never 
be  old  enough  to  eat  no  strawberries.  Well,  well, 
it's  the  way  of  the  world !" 

She  sighed  piously,  and  giving  her  husband 
a  liberal  helping  of  the  fruit,  passed  him  the  cream, 
and  then  filled  her  own  dish,  probably  congratulat 
ing  herself  that  she  had  not  died  too  young  to  get 
her  share  of  strawberries. 

"I  s'pose  Addie'll  sing  a  solo  next  Sunday?" 
she  said,  interrogatively,  as  she  spooned  up  some 
cream  ready  to  follow  the  strawberry  she  held  in 
her  fingers  ready  to  pop  into  her  mouth.  "I  was 
hopin'  she'd  do  it  this  mornin'." 

"She'll  sing  one  next  Sunday  morning,  I  heard 
'Squire  Morgan  say,"  Solomon  returned.  "And  it's 
to  be  a  hummer.  The  music  committee  allow  they'll 


8o  THE  CLIMAX 

know  from  that  whether  she  is  good  enough  to  stay 
in  the  choir.  I'm  betting  she  will,  for  that  girl  can 
sing,  and  I  don't  care  what  her  mother  was,"  added 
Solomon,  defiantly,  as  he  got  up  from  the  table,  to 
take  his  Sunday  afternoon  nap  in  his  office  chair  in 
the  shop,  among  the  coffins. 

While  the  good  people  of  Azalia  were  talking 
about  her  over  their  Sunday  dinners,  what  was 
Adelina  doing? 

Adelina? 

Who  was  this,  kneeling  by  the  bed  in  the 
dainty  bedroom  where  the  crimson  roses  on  the 
porch  crept  up  to  the  window,  her  cheek  pressed 
against  an  old  opera  score  on  the  white  counter 
pane,  weeping  in  a  tempest  of  passionate  sobs? 

Surely  none  other  than  the  young  girl  whose 
voice  had  risen  so  joyously  in  the  "Venite  exul- 
temus  Domino,"  and  who  had  walked  home  from 
the  church  with  John  Raymond,  full  of  happiness 
that,  in  singing  in  the  choir,  she  had  attained  at 
least  one  of  her  ambitions! 

But  why  did  she  cry?  Why  was  her  bosom 
heaving  as  if  a  battle  were  raging  there — a  conflict 
none  the  less  violent  because  the  contending  forces 
were  confined  to  such  a  narrow  space?  Why  did 
she  clasp  the  dog's-eared  old  opera-book  to  her 


THE  CLIMAX  81 

heart,  and  murmur  so  pitifully:  "Mother!  Mother! 
What  is  right  for  me  to  do?" 

What  was  right  for  her  to  do?  Was  not  the 
explanation  to  be  found  in  that  wild  cry  for  guid 
ance?  Could  it  not  have  been  that  this  day,  on 
which  she  had  been  able  to  set  really  free  for  the 
first  time  the  song  that  was  in  her,  had  drawn  her 
more  strongly  than  ever  toward  the  career  for 
which  she  longed?  If  so,  how  natural  for  her  to 
weep!  Perhaps  the  excitement  had  something  to 
do  with  it.  So  sensitive  a  temperament  must  find 
some  relief,  and  what  could  there  be  more  grateful 
than  tears? 

"Mother!"  she  cried  again,  always  with  that 
piteous  note  of  doubt.  "I  think  I  love  him.  I'm 
almost  sure  I  do.  But  I  can't  give  up  all  for  him. 
I  cannot — I  cannot.  I've  been  fighting  it  for  weeks 
and  months,  and  now  I  know.  I'll  do  what  you 
would  have  wished." 

Full  of  impulse,  she  suddenly  sprang  to  her 
feet,  and,  kissing  the  old  book,  placed  it  reverently 
on  the  pile  with  the  others.  Then  she  looked  into 
the  mirror,  and,  with  practiced  fingers,  straightened 
her  tumbled  hair.  The  canary,  among  the  roses  in 
the  porch  below,  began  to  sing,  as  if  he,  too,  had 
just  resolved  in  his  mind  some  doubt  that  had  been 
troubling  him. 


82  THE  CLIMAX 

"I  hope  my  eyes  are  not  red  enough  for  my 
father  to  notice  them,"  said  Adelina  to  herself. 

Then  she  smiled  at  her  misgiving,  for  she  knew 
he  never  looked  at  her  closely  enough  for  that.  Be 
sides,  a  little  cold  water  would  soon  take  out  the 
inflammation.  She  had  not  wept  long. 

When  she  went  down  stairs,  ten  minutes  after 
ward,  there  was  nothing  in  her  calm  face  to  be 
tray  her,  and  when  Harriet  Wylie — Daddy  Wylie's 
granddaughter,  who  always  cooked  and  served 
dinner  for  them  on  Sunday — said  she  wished  she 
could  have  been  at  church,  to  hear  her  sing,  Ade 
lina  promised  that  she  would  sing  everything  for 
her  after  dinner  that  she  had  sung  in  church,  so 
that  she  might  have  some  idea  of  how  it  had 
sounded.  And  sing  she  did,  with  her  own  piano 
accompaniment,  while  her  father  smoked  his  china- 
bowled  German  pipe  in  the  porch  and  half  choked 
the  canary  with  tobacco. 

It  seemed  a  very  short  time  to  Adelina  before 
she  was  again  in  the  choir  gallery,  with  the  smirk 
ing  Adolph  Schwartz  on  one  side  and  Mile.  Marie 
Connor  and  Saul  Hunter  on  the  other,  listening 
to  her  father  playing  a  Guilmant  sonata  as  an 
organ  prelude,  through  which  could  be  heard  at 
intervals  the  wheezing  of  the  air-pump  in  its  little 
closet.  Then  the  service  began,  and  the  musical 


THE  CLIMAX  83 

portion,  which  included  a  contralto  solo  by  Mile. 
Connor,  was  carried  through  with  perfect  smooth 
ness. 

Adelina  was  rather  taken  aback  when,  after  the 
benediction,  all  the  congregation,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  a  few  bashful  boys  in  their  teens,  insisted 
on  shaking  hands  with  her.  Mrs.  Treadhouse  led 
in  the  ceremony.  There  had  been  no  such  general 
demonstration  in  the  morning.  Not  that  anyone  in 
the  congregation  had  failed  to  note  how  the  new 
soprano  had  improved  the  quartette ;  but  the  situa 
tion  was  a  delicate  one,  and  it  was  felt  that,  unless 
Mrs.  Treadhouse  should  place  the  seal  of  her  ap 
proval  on  her  successor,  no  one  else  could  do  it 
with  decency. 

It  was  no  secret  that  Susan  had  been  z.ngry 
when  the  music  committee — all  three  together,  for 
no  one  man  had  the  nerve  to  face  her  with  such  a 
message — had  told  her  that  her  resignation  was  re 
quired.  Indeed,  for  a  day  or  two  afterward,  she  had 
entertained  a  wild  purpose  to  defy  the  committee 
and  remain  in  the  choir,  even  if  it  should  mean  the 
forcible  establishing  of  a  lop-sided  quintette,  with 
two  warring  sopranos  at  one  end. 

But  the  Reverend  Thomas,  docile  fifty-one 
Sundays  in  the  year,  could  take  the  bit  in  his  teeth 
on  the  fifty-second,  if  his  conscience  told  him  that 


84  THE  CLIMAX 

duty  demanded  firmness.  This  chanced  to  be  that 
fifty-second  Sunday,  and  when  Mrs.  Thomas  spoke, 
in  the  morning,  before  church,  of  showing  the  music 
committee  that  they  could  not  ride  rough-shod  over 
her,  he  sternly  informed  her  that,  as  pastor,  he  had 
given  his  assent  to  what  they  had  done,  and  there 
fore  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said — except 
that  he  requested  her  to  be  courteous  to  Miss  Von 
Hagen,  and  quoted  one  or  two  pertinent  passages 
from  Holy  Writ  on  the  evils  of  envy,  malice  and 
uncharitableness.  The  result  was  the  formal  hand 
shaking — which  fatigued  Adelina,  and  found  much 
less  favor  with  her  than  the  sentiment  conveyed. 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  was  proud  of  his  daugh 
ter's  success.  He  did  not  tell  her  so,  but  he 
showed  it  by  rehearsing  with  her  at  home,  night 
after  night,  the  solo  she  was  to  sing  on  the  follow 
ing  Sunday.  On  Wednesday  he  gave  her  addi 
tional  proof  of  .his  satisfaction  by  taking  her  into 
his  confidence  in,  for  him,  an  unusual  way.  He 
actually  told  her  the  contents  of  a  letter  he  had 
got  from  the  postoffice  the  day  before — rather,  as 
she  suspected,  because  he  wanted  to  talk  to  some 
body,  than  with  any  idea  of  interesting  her.  And 
yet  the  news  in  the  letter  was  of  some  personal 
concern  to  her,  too. 

"An  old  friend  of  your  mother's,  Luigi  Golfanti, 


THE  CLIMAX  85 

is  coming  to  Azalia  on  Saturday.  He  is  going  to 
stay  over  Sunday,"  said  Heinrich,  looking  up  at 
her  from  the  piano  when  she  had  just  finished  her 
solo— Haydn's  "With  Verdure  Clad,"  from  "The 
Creation" — and  was  waiting  for  his  criticism. 

Adelina  well  remembered  Signor  Golfanti. 
When  she  was  a  little  child  he  had  come  to  their 
home  occasionally,  with  his  wife,  to  talk  over  old 
days.  It  was  then  that  the  girl  had  heard  remi 
niscences  of  splendid  triumphs  on  the  stage,  in 
which  both  her  mother  and  Signor  Golfanti  had 
shared,  that  stirred  her  soul  to  its  very  depths. 
Yes,  she  never  could  forget  Signor  Golfanti. 

"What's  he  coming  for,  father?" 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  chuckled. 

"You'll  hardly  believe  it,  but  he  says  he  heard, 
in  Cincinnati,  where  he  is  now,  singing  in  the  big 
musical  festival,  that  you  are  leading  soprano  at 
an  Azalia  church — he  doesn't  know  we  have  a  quar 
tette  choir — and  he  wants  to  hear  you  sing.  So, 
on  his  way  back  to  New  York,  he  will  stop  off  here 
and  hear  your  solo  on  Sunday.  Mind  you  do  your 
best.  Haydn  is  tricky  in  spots,  but  you  can  sing 
him  if  you  try  hard." 

"But  why  is  Signor  Golfanti  so  interested  in 
me  as  to  take  all  this  trouble  to  hear  me  sing?"  she 
asked,  wonderingly. 


86  THE  CLIMAX 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  answered  her  father,  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "Luigi  was  in  love  with 
your  mother  before  we  were  married,  but  I  won  her 
away  from  him." 

"Yes,   I've  heard  that." 

"It  seems  he  made  a  promise  to  your  mother 
once  that,  when  you  were  old  enough  to  sing,  he 
would  do  all  he  could  to  help  you  if  you  wanted 
to  make  a  profession  of  music.  It  was  a  stupid 
thing  for  him  to  do,  but  these  Italians  are  liable 
to  do  anything.  That's  all  there  is  to  it.  Now,  I 
want  to  show  him  that  my  daughter,  under  my  in 
struction,  has  learned  to  sing — like  her.  You  un 
derstand?  Luigi  and  some  of  the  other  jealous 
people  said  I  didn't  treat  your  mother  well.  That 
was  all  a  lie,  of  course.  But  he  may  believe  it. 
Now,  if  he  sees  you  full  of  life  and  spirit,  and  sing 
ing  with  the  animation  your  mother  always  showed 
in  opera,  particularly  in  such  roles  as  Carmen  and 
Zerlina,  he  will  know  better.  He  will  see  that  I 
have  taken  good  care  of  your  health,  besides  teach 
ing  you  to  use  your  voice.  There's  something 
more,  too.  If  I  am  good  to  my  daughter,  I  must 
have  been  kind  to  her  mother." 

This  rather  lame  deduction  seemed  to  please 
him,  for  he  muttered,  with  conviction :  "Why, 


THE  CLIMAX  87 

sure!  I  have  took  care  of  my  daughter.  Then, 
how  could  I  be  anything  except  a  good  husband?" 

"Where  will  Signor  Golf  an  ti  live  while  he  is  in 
Azalia?"  asked  Adelina. 

"We  shall  have  to  make  room  for  him.  There 
is  the  attic.  It  is  big  and  it  has  four  windows.  The 
air  blows  right  through  when  they  are  open.  Gol- 
fanti  ought  to  sleep  well  up  there.  It's  a  lovely 
room." 

"I  hope  it  won't  be  too  hot.  It's  immediately 
under  the  roof,  you  know,  and  shingles  draw  the 
sun  terribly,"  she  objected,  with  the  anxiety  of  a 
prospective  hostess. 

Von  Hagen  waved  all  this  away  with  a  back 
ward  sweep  of  the  hand. 

"It  will  be  all  right.  Don't  you  worry  alxmt 
that.  You  put  clean  sheets  on  the  bed  and  have  a 
mirror  for  him  to  brush  his  hair  by,  and  that  will 
do.  You  hear  me?  That  is  enough.  Eh?" 

"Very  well,  father.  I'll  get  Harriet  to  come 
and  help  me  fix  it.  But  what  shall  we  do  with  all 
the  lumber  in  the  attic?" 

"Lumber?    What  lumber?" 

"All  those  iron  music-stands." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  remember.  I  used  them  for  my 
summer  concerts  in  Louisville  that  time." 

"Then  there  is  the  double-bass  viol,  and  piles 


88  THE  CLIMAX 

and  piles  of  orchestra  scores.  Can  I  put  them  in 
the  wood-shed?" 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  jumped  up  and  shook  his 
fists  at  the  ceiling  in  indignant  horror. 

"Ach  himmel !"  he  roared.  "The  wood-shed ! 
No.  Put  them  up  against  the  walls — music-stands, 
everything — in  the  attic,  where  they  are.  There'll 
be  plenty  of  room  for  Golfanti.  He  won't  mind  the 
bass  viol.  He  oughtn't  to.  It  has  helped  him  many 
a  time  in  the  theatre,  hiding  his  sour  notes." 

Adelina  was  a  little  surprised  by  this  sneer  at 
their  expected  guest's  voice,  but  she  made  no  re 
mark.  Luigi  Golfanti  had  been  her  father's  rival 
for  the  hand  of  her  mother,  and  that  must  have 
meant  some  bitter  feeling  between  them.  Perhaps 
it  had  not  all  died  out  even  now,  after  twenty 
years.  Adelina  was  sure  that,  if  she  loved  anyone 
very  much,  she  never  could  forgive  the  woman  who 
tried  to  take  him  from  her. 

Why  did  not  Adelina,  in  these  musings,  name 
John  Raymond?  Why  did  she  content  herself  with 
"if  I  loved  anyone  very  much?"  She  could  have 
given  only  one  explanation — that  the  words  formed 
themselves  in  her  mind  in  their  own  way.  Poor 
John  Raymond ! 

Harriet  and  Adelina  swept  through  the  attic 
cyclonically.  They  moved  everything  in  the  large 


THE  CLIMAX  89 

room,  which  extended  the  whole  depth  of  the  house 
from  back  to  front,  and  had  two  windows  at  each 
end.  Harriet — a  buxom  maiden  of  seventeen,  who 
never  in  her  life  had  known  what  it  was  to  be 
really  tired — poked  a  broom  into  every  corner,  and 
completed  the  treatment  with  soap  and  a  scrubbing- 
brush.  The  musical  paraphernalia  was  pushed 
against  the  dwarf  wall  where  the  roof  sloped  to  the 
top  of  it,  and  when  strips  of  carpet  were  laid  and 
Adelina  had  put  the  finishing  touches,  one  would 
hardly  have  known  the  orderly,  inviting  apartment 
for  the  dingy,  muddled  attic  it  had  been  before  they 
began  work.  It  not  only  looked,  but  smelled,  dif 
ferent.  The  mustiness  had  been  swept  and 
scrubbed  out  of  it,  and  instead  there  was  the  sweet 
piney  odor  of  the  damp  floor,  mingled  with  that  of 
the  roses  Adelina  had  gathered.  She  would  keep 
some  in  the  room,  changing  them  every  day,  until 
the  visitor  came. 

It  was  noon  on  Saturday  when  the  local  train 
on  the  branch  road  that  passed  through  Azalia 
brought  Luigi  Golfanti.  Heinrich  Von  Hagen  and 
Adelina  were  at  the  "depot,"  in  company  with  the 
usual  coterie  of  station  loafers,  to  whom  the  coming 
in  of  a  train  was  the  thrilling  excitement  of  their 
lives. 

The    crazy    wooden    platform    was   level    with 


90  THE  CLIMAX 

the  tracks.  Near  one  end,  where  the  loafers  sat  on 
a  bench  in  the  shade,  chewing  tobacco  and 
whittling-  soft  pine,  were  the  ticket  and  telegraph 
office,  the  waiting  parlor  and  the  baggage  room,  all 
under  one  roof — which  leaked  villainously  when  it 
rained  or  snowed. 

"Here  she  comes !"  announced  one  of  the  weary 
tobacco-chewing  gentlemen  on  the  bench,  and 
everyone  became  galvanized  into  some  sort  of 
movement  and  expectancy.  "She"  was  the  train. 

It  was  not  a  train  to  make  much  fuss  over, 
judged  by  city  standards,  although  it  passed  muster 
in  Azalia.  It  consisted  of  a  locomotive  long  ban 
ished  from  the  main  line  as  old-fashioned  and  nearly 
worn  out,  a  combination  baggage-car  and  pas 
senger  coach,  and  an  empty  freight  car  to  balance 
the  outfit.  As  it  came  wheezing  up,  the  engine-bell 
ringing  maddeningly,  Adelina  saw,  at  an  open  win 
dow,  the  face  of  a  man  whom  one  would  have 
known  for  an  Italian  anywhere,  framed  in  by  long 
curly  gray  hair.  The  eyes  were  very  dark  and 
penetrating,  and  there  was  a  good-humored  smile 
rippling  over  the  mobile  mouth.  A  soft  felt  hat 
was  set  back  on  his  head  as  if  he  wanted  to  see 
everything,  and  certainly  was  resolved  not  to  be 
annoyed  by  such  a  thing  as  a  hat-brim. 

"Hello,  Luigi!"  called  out  Von  Hagen. 


THE  CLIMAX  •          91 

The  next  moment  Luigi  Golfanti  was  on  the 
station  platform,  holding  Von  Hagen  by  the  two 
elbows  with  a  light  touch  of  finger-tips,  as  he 
greeted  him  with  the  smiling  effusiveness  which 
would  have  betrayed  his  nativity  even  without  any 
other  evidence. 

"Ah!  My  Von!  How  you  do?"  he  cried.  "It 
is  long  since  I  see  you.  Ah!  It  is  so  long!"  Then, 
turning  to  Adelina,  he  took  her  by  the  shoulders, 
and,  to  the  amazement  of  the  station  loafers,  gazing 
open-mouthed,  he  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  and 
said,  exuberantly:  "This  is  the  little  Adelina.  I 
know  it.  I  see  her  mother  in  her  face.  Santa 
Maria !  How  like  she  is !  How  like  !" 

Adelina  saw  that  a  young  fellow  of  about  nine 
teen,  with  dark  eyes  and  hair,  and  heavy  arched 
eyebrows  that  met — such  a  young  man  as  Luigi 
Golfanti  must  have  been  at  his  age — was  standing 
in  the  background  with  an  embarrassed  air,  hold 
ing  a  suit-case.  She  also  noticed  that  his  eyes 
never  left  her  face. 


"And  lias  not  such  a  story  from  of  old 
Down  man's  successive  generations  roll'd?" 

"Ah!  You  will  pardon  me?  I  forgot.  My 
son,  Pietro !"  suddenly  exclaimed  Luigi  Golfanti, 
leading  the  dark-eyed  young  man  forward.  "Ade 
lina,  you  must  be  friends  with  him,  eh?  His 
mother's  name  was  yours — Adelina.  He  is  a  good 
boy,  but  he  not  like  to  teach.  What  he  always 
want  is  write  music.  It  is  a  good  ambition,  but  it 
not  bring  in  much  money." 

A  flush  leaped  over  the  cheeks  of  the  youth  as 
Adelina  gave  him  her  hand,  and  he  said,  in  his  deep 
tones,  that  he  hoped  to  hear  her  sing  in  her  home, 
as  well  as  at  church. 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Von?"  chirped  Luigi. 
"That's  my  bashful  son,  trying  to  make  an  arrange 
ment  for  Adelina  to  give  him  a  private  song  re 
cital.  The  first  time  he  speak  to  her,  too." 

"I  didn't  mean  that.  You  will  be  there,  too, 
won't  you?"  said  Pietro,  naively. 

Luigi  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter  that  almost 
92 


THE  CLIMAX  93 

drowned  the  clanking  of  the  engine-bell  and  the 
conductor  shouting  "All  aboard!"  as  the  train 
pulled  out. 

"He  want  to  know  whether  I'll  be  there,  when 
he  knows  I've  broken  my  journey  to  New  York  on 
purpose.  Yes,  Pietro,  I  will  be  there.  Which  is 
the  way  to  the  hotel,  Von?" 

"Ach!  You  will  stay  with  us,"  replied  Von 
Hagen.  "We  have  a  bedroom  ready  for  you.  If 
I'd  known  you  had  your  son  with  you,  we  would 
hav-e  put  in  two  beds." 

Luigi  Golfanti  said  nothing  more  about  going 
to  the  hotel.  No  doubt  he  had  expected  Von 
Hagen's  tender  of  a  bedroom. 

'"What  matter  about  the  beds?  There  will  be 
room  in  mine  for  Pietro.  You  not  know  he  come 
with  me,  eh?  Well,  I  not  tell  you  because  I  forget. 
He  only  a  boy,  and  I  not  think  him  worth  while  to 
keep  in  my  mind." 

"A  boy?" 

"Si.  He  just  so  old  as  Adelina.  She  like  him 
when  he  small.  He  like  her.  Now  they  are 
strangers.  But  they  soon  get  over  that.  Ha,  ha, 
ha!" 

Luigi  Golfanti  had  an  infectious  laugh,  and 
Adelina  joined  in,  while  Pietro  smiled.  Von  Hagen 
made  no  response.  With  a  grunt  which  might  have 


94  THE  CLIMAX 

been  sympathetic  or  not,  just  a/ you  chose  to  in 
terpret  it,  he  marched  down  the  platform  in  the  di 
rection  of  home. 

While  the  station  loungers  still  stared,  as  if  pet 
rified  by  so  extraordinary  a  sight  as  these  two 
Italian  strangers,  Luigi  insisted  on  drawing  one  of 
the  girl's  arms  through  his  own,  and  told  Pietro  to 
take  the  other.  Pietro  hesitated,  and  then  obeyed, 
as  Adelina  smiled.  In  this  order  they  paraded 
along  Main  street — Von  Hagen  in  front,  and  the 
others,  three  abreast,  close  on  his  heels.  It  was  an 
absurd  performance.  Adelina  felt  it,  but  there  was 
no  way  of  escape.  Besides,  Luigi  appeared  to  enjoy 
it  so  much  that  it  would  have  been  cruel  to  object. 
As  for  Pietro,  he  looked  straight  ahead,  pinning  her 
hand  tightly  to  his  side  with  his  elbow,  and  occa 
sionally  pulling  her  fingers  a  little  forward  under 
his  arm  when  they  seemed  to  be  slipping  away. 
He  wished  he  were  not  bothered  with  the  suit-case. 

"Your  father  is  the  drum-major,  Adelina.  We 
the  fifes  and  drums,  eh?"  laughed  Luigi,  as  he  began 
to  play  an  imaginary  snare-drum,  but  without  re 
leasing  Adelina's  arm.  "T-r-rum !  T-r-rum ! 
T-r-rum — t-r-rum — t-r-rum  !" 

Who  could  resist  this  child-like  gaiety,  wherein 
the  volatile  Latin  blood  asserted  itself,  regardless 
of  place  or  fitness?  Not  Adelina.  At  the  beginning 


THE  CLIMAX  95 

she  felt  a  little  ashamed,  as  she  saw  Mrs.  Solomon 
Potter,  in  the  window  of  the  undertaker  shop, 
among  her  husband's  coffins,  holding  up  her  hands 
in  ostentatious  astonishment;  as  Daddy  Wylie,  in 
the  grocery  and  postoffice,  called  Dave  Rundell  to 
the  door  to  look ;  as  a  farmer,  driving  along,  with 
his  wife,  in  a  wagon  whose  blue  paint  was  almost 
entirely  hidden  by  dust,  pulled  up  short,  and,  grin 
ning  derisively,  pointed  at  Luigi  with  his  whip ;  as 
half  a  dozen  other  wide-eyed  men  and  women  came 
running  to  the  doors  of  their  houses  and  stores ;  as 
curious  little  girls  and  boys,  their  hands  behind 
them,  regarded  them  with  solemn  eyes  as  they 
passed,  and,  finally,  when  she  saw  that  a  straggling 
group  of  older  boys  had  joined  the  procession,  and 
were  tagging  along  in  the  rear,  drumming  with 
hands  and  voice,  like  Luigi. 

She  thrust  aside  her  embarrassment  by  main 
strength.  Why  should  she  be  disconcerted  because 
the  neighbors,  who  had  known  her  from  childhood, 
saw  her  in  such  an  unusual  public  exhibition?  They 
would  understand,  of  course.  These  strangers,  to 
whom  the  sober  dignity  of  Azalia  was  something 
new,  and  doubtless  admirable,  could  not  be  ex 
pected  to  absorb  its  splendid  atmosphere,  blue 
with  decorum,  all  at  once.  Besides,  they  were 
"furriners,"  and,  as  all  the  wiseacres  of  this  con- 


o6  THE  CLIMAX 

servative  town  were  well  aware,  the  customs  of 
other  countries  were  not  those  of  the  United 
States.  Adelina  had  a  cynical  comprehension  of 
the  local  point  of  view.  So  she  not  only  laughed, 
but  merrily  demanded  of  Pietro  why  he  didn't  play 
the  fife.  The  youth,  unspeakably  ashamed  of  his 
father's  behavior,  had  been  blushing  furiously  un 
der  the  gaze  of  the  people  they  passed.  He  smiled 
gratefully  at  her.  She  returned  the  smile,  shaking 
her  head  coquettishly  at  him,  as  Luigi  continued 
to  drum  louder  than  ever. 

And  just  then  John  Raymond  turned  the  cor 
ner  and  confronted  them. 

As  they  came  noisily  along,  taking  up  the 
whole  width  of  the  sidewalk,  he  stepped  aside,  in 
voluntarily,  while  Heinrich  Von  Hagen,  who 
hardly  knew  what  was  going  on  behind  him,  nodded 
carelessly  to  the  young  doctor  and  turned  the  cor 
ner  into  his  own  street.  Adelina,  the  smile  gone 
from  her  face,  but  with  both  arms  still  held  so 
tightly  that  she  could  not  release  them,  stopped 
short,  compelling  her  two  companions  to  do  the 
same.  The  rear-guard  of  boys,  many  of  them  bare 
footed,  not  expecting  the  sudden  halt,  stumbled 
against  them  tumultuously. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  significance  of 
John  Raymond's  frown.  Surprise,  disgust,  ang.er 


THE  CLIMAX  97 

and  pain,  as  of  one  who  sees  a  beautiful  fragile 
vase  suddenly  dashed  down  and  ground  to  nothing 
ness  under  a  heavy  heel — all  these  were  in  his 
face.  His  eyes  blazed  in  their  brown  depths,  and, 
as  his  lips  tightened,  the  blood  left  them,  and  his 
mouth  became  a  thin,  livid  line.  He  glanced  once 
at  Luigi, — who  had  stopped  drumming, — as  at  an 
imbecile,  not  worthy  of  more  than  passing  atten 
tion,  and,  then,  after  a  short,  angry  look  at  Pietro 
— who  promptly  scowled  in  return — he  gazed  stead 
ily  into  Adelina's  face. 

Only  feminine  tact  could  save  such  a  situation. 
Drawing  her  arms  from  their  bondage  with  an  ef 
fort,  she  indicated  Luigi  with  her  right  hand,  and 
said,  cheerfully: 

"Mr.  Raymond,  permit  me  to  introduce  Signer 
Golfanti,  of  New  York,"  adding,  after  a  pause,  with 
a  swift  look  at  Raymond  which  he  understood,  and 
in  a  different  tone,  "one  of  my  dear  mother's  most 
valued  friends  before  I  was  born." 

A  little  sigh  heaved  her  bosom  as  she  men 
tioned  her  mother,  and  some  of  Raymond's  fury 
evaporated  at  the  explanation,  for  he  knew  that  if 
this  gray-haired  Italian  had  been  a  friend  of  Ade 
lina's  mother,  he  had  a  claim  on  the  girl's  regard 
which  would  excuse  even  his  making  her  ridiculous 
on  Azalia's  most  important  street.  So  he  inclined 


98  THE  CLIMAX 

his  head  graciously,  although  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  smile.  Luigi  Golfanti  smiled,  however. 
Removing  his  soft  hat  with  a  flourish,  he  placed 
his  left  hand  over  his  heart  and  bowed  low,  saying : 

"Signer,  I  have  the  honor  to  salute  you,  and 
I  thank  the  charming  Adelina  for  presenting  me. 
It  is  a  pleasure  will  remain  always  in  my  memory." 

What  could  John  Raymond  say  or  do  after 
that?  When  Luigi  pointed  to  Pietro,  with  "My 
son,  Pietro,  Signor  Raymond,"  he  bowed  to  the 
dark-faced  young  man,  who,  with  unrelaxed  brow, 
bent  his  head  in  acknowledgment,  but  did  not 
speak.  Then  Raymond  asked  Luigi  whether  it  was 
their  first  visit  to  Azalia. 

"Si,"  was  the  reply.  "It  is  to  my  everlasting 
regret  that  I  have  not  been  in  this  beautiful  place 
before.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  It  is  more  than  six 
hundred  miles  from  New  York.  Now,  when  my 
boy  and  I  go  to  Cincinnati,  to  the  festival,  where 
Pietro  and  I  play  and  sing  for  enough  to  pay  the 
expense,  I  say  to  Pietro  'We  must  visit  Azalia.  I 
not  see  Adelina  Von  Hagen  since  she  little  girl.' 
Well,  I  write  to  her  father,  and  he  tell  me  she  in 
the  choir  and  she  sing  a  solo  on  Sunday.  What 
then?  I  write  him  we  come,  and  here  we  are.  So." 

The  noisy  boys  who  had  been  following  the  im 
promptu  procession  had  gone  away,  when  they  saw 


THE  CLIMAX  99 

the  fun  was  over,  and  Adelina  led  the  way  into 
the  street  on  which  she  and  the  Raymonds  lived. 
John  walked  by  her  side,  displacing  Pietro,  who 
did  not  like  it,  but  could  not  help  himself.  He 
saw  that  this  tall  fellow  had  taken  possession  of  the 
girl  as  if  it  were  his  right,  and  Pietro  hated  him. 
His  hatred  was  the  more  bitter  because  Raymond 
practically  ignored  him,  addressing  all  his  remarks 
to  Luigi.  Pietro  was  accustomed  to  his  father 
treating  him  as  a  boy,  and  thought  nothing-  of  it. 
But  this  stranger  was  different.  His  cool,  almost 
contemptuous,  demeanor  toward  one  who  was  as 
much  a  man  as  himself,  even  if  a  few  years 
younger,  was  not  to  be  borne  quietly.  He  "would 
demand  an  explanation  of  this  Mr.  Raymond,  or 
the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman.  Pietro  was  not 
clear  as  to  what  form  this  satisfaction  would  take 
in  a  country  where  a  duel  would  lead  him,  possibly 
with  a  rough  policeman's  grasp  on  his  coat-collar, 
to  a  prosaic  prison  cell.  But  he  would  find  some 
way  of  revenging  himself.  Yes,  he  would  find  some 
way.  He  slammed  the  suit-case  against  a  tree  in 
impotent  rage. 

Not  only  did  Raymond  leave  him  out  of  the 
conversation — deliberately  and  with  malice,  of 
course — but  he  had  had  the  insolence  to  push  Pie 
tro  aside,  almost,  so  that  he  (Raymond)  could,  stroll 


ioo  THE  CLIMAX 

along  with  Adelina.  Pietro,  as  he  walked  behind, 
saw  him  slyly  take  her  hand  once,  and  she  let  her 
hand  stay  in  his  while  Pietro  counted  three  before 
drawing  it  gently  away.  Pietro  saw  this.  It  was 
not  as  if  somebody  else  had  told  him.  In  that  case, 
it  might  not  have  been  true.  But  he  had  the  evi 
dence  of  his  own  eyes,  and  a  very  miserable  young 
man  it  made  him. 

"You  knew  Adelina  when  she  was  a  child,  be 
fore  she  came  to  Azalia,  then?"  inquired  Raymond, 
as  they  walked  along  by  the  laurel-hung  picket- 
fences  under  the  whispering  elms. 

"Si.  Her  mother  was  my  cousin.  So  Adelina 
is  our  cousin,  too — mine  and  Pietro's." 

Pietro  shot  a  swift  glance  of  exultation  at 
Raymond.  At  least,  this  self-sufficient  personage 
was  not  her  relative.  Pietro  had  the  advantage 
of  him  there. 

"Aren't  we  taking  you  out  of  your  way,  John  ?" 
Adelina  asked  him.  "You  were  going  down  Main 
street,  and  now  you  are  coming  back.  I  hope  we 
are  not  keeping  you  from  some  patient  who  needs 
you." 

"Oh,  no.  I  was  only  going  to  Root's  drug 
store  for  some  calomel  pills  and  quinine.  I  always 
carry  them  with  me  when  I  make  my  round  of 


THE  CLIMAX  101 

calls,  and  I  find  myself  nearly  out.  But  I  can  get 
them  later." 

So  this  Raymond  was  a  doctor.  Pietro  never 
had  known  a  doctor  who  didn't  think  himself  wiser 
and  better  than  other  people.  But  Pietro  was  sure 
of  one  thing — if  he  were  sick,  he  would  rather  die 
than  trust  himself  in  the  hands  of  Doctor  Ray 
mond.  And — why  did  she  call  him  "John"  so  fa 
miliarly? 

The  four  of  them  went  slowly  along,  Pietro 
viciously  kicking  the  cinders  from  the  path  with 
his  heel  from  time  to  time,  and  Luigi  enjoying  the 
soft  beauty  of  the  scene  with  the  delight  an  artist 
always  finds  in  the  country.  Pietro  had  the  ca 
pacity  of  artistic  appreciation  as  well  as  his  father, 
but  his  heart  was  too  full  of  unavailing  bitterness 
just  now  to  look  at  anything  except  the  broad 
back  of  John  Raymond,  perfect  summer  day  as  it 
was. 

"Your  father  is  home  already,  Adelina,"  re 
marked  Raymond,  as  Von  Hagen  stopped  at  the 
gate  and  looked  toward  them,  surprised  to  find  that 
they  had  lagged  so  far  behind. 

"You'll  come  in,  John,  won't  you?"  Adelina 
asked,  as  they  quickened  their  pace.  "I  want  to 
give  you  a  pansy  to  wear  in  your  coat." 

"Over  your  heart,"  put  in  Luigi,  as  he  placed 


102  THE  CLIMAX 

his  right  forefinger  along  the  side  of  his  nose  know 
ingly,  and  smiled. 

"Do  you  think  I  need  it?"  asked  Raymond, 
softly,  of  Adelina. 

"Don't  you  think  we  all  need  it  more  or  less?'' 

Raymond  nodded,  and  again  Pietro  saw  him 
take  her  hand,  and  again  she  did  not  withdraw  it 
immediately. 

"I'll  come  as  far  as  the  garden  for  the  heart's- 
ease — pansy,  I  mean,"  Raymond  said,  and  did  not 
say  anything  more  until  they  had  reached  the  gate, 
when,  Von  Hagen  having  already  entered,  he  stood 
aside  to  let  Luigi  and  Pietro  go  in,  following  them 
up  the  garden-path  with  Adelina. 

Von  Hagen  ushered  his  guests  into  the  shady 
front  room  where  stood  Adelina's  piano.  Her  sheet- 
music  lay  there  open,  just  as  she  had  left  it  after 
rehearsing  her  solo  for  Sunday,  and  her  father's 
violin,  in  its  case,  was  on  a  chair  close  by.  Pietro 
took  in  all  the  details  of  the  apartment  as  soon  as 
he  was  inside  the  door,  and  his  fingers  itched  to 
try  the  piano. 

"I'll  show  you  your  room,  Luigi,"  volunteered 
Von  Hagen.  "Perhaps  you  and  your  son  would 
like  to  wash  up,  after  your  journey?" 

"Si.  That  a  good  idea.  But  you  will  not 
come  ttp.  It  is  not  necessary  to  give  you  the  fa- 


THE  CLIMAX  103 

tigue.  Tell  us  where  it  is,  and  Pietro  and  I  we  find 
it." 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  was  not  fond  of  climbing 
stairs,  and  he  was  grateful  to  Luigi. 

"It's  at  the  top  of  the  house.  There's  only  one 
room,  so  you  can't  miss  it,"  he  said. 

"Buono!    We  get  there.    Come,  Pietro!" 

Pietro  did  not  respond.  He  was  looking  out  of 
the  window,  through  the  rose-vines,  where  the 
crimson  ramblers  swayed  in  the  gentle  summer 
breeze,  at  two  figures  in  the  garden.  One  of  them, 
in  a  light  frock,  was  stooping  over  a  pansy-bed, 
while  the  other,  whom  Pietro  hated,  held  her  hand, 
pretending  she  needed  his  assistance  to  save  her 
from  falling  forward  among  the  flowers. 

"Pietro !" 

Luigi  called  him  a  second  time,  sharply,  and  he 
came  to  himself  with  a  jerk. 

"What  is  it,  father?" 

"Come  up  stairs,  and  bring  the  suit-case  with 
you." 

"Yes,  father." 

He  took  up  the  suit-case  from  the  floor,  and, 
after  glowering  once  more  through  the  window 
toward  the  pansy-bed,  went  out  of  the  room  and 
up  the  stairs  after  his  parent. 

"It  make  you  puff,  eh,  Pietro?"  laughed  Luigi, 


104  THE  CLIMAX 

as  they  entered  the  great  attic  on  the  third  story. 
"I  hear  you." 

"Yes,  father." 

But  the  sound  Luigi  had  heard  which  he  sup 
posed  to  be  a  catching  of  the  breath,  caused  by 
carrying  the  heavy  suit-case  up  so  many  stairs, 
was  really  a  sigh.  If  he  had  known  what  was  pass 
ing  in  his  son's  mind  as  the  young  man  went  over 
to  one  of  the  front  windows  and  peered  down  into 
the  garden,  he  would  have  called  Pietro  a  fool. 


CHAPTER  VII 

"The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running 
Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony." 

Pietro  Goifanti  was  up  early  the  next  morning. 
It  was  not  that  the  distracting  thoughts  which  had 
made  him  sigh  so  heavily  at  the  top  of  the  stairs 
had  disturbed  his  rest.  His  digestion  was  too  good 
to  permit  him  to  be  rendered  sleepless  by  the  first 
assault  from  a  pretty  girl's  eyes.  Neither  could 
such  embryotic  jealousy  as  had  made  him  learn 
to  hate  John  Raymond  in  the  few  minutes  it  had 
taken  to  walk  from  the  corner  of  Main  street  to  her 
father's  garden  gate  stretch  him  helpless  on  the  hot 
griddle  of  insomnia.  He  was  up  soon  after  day 
break  simply  because  he  had  retired  early  the 
night  before,  and  his  healthy  young  constitution 
demanded  only  a  reasonable  amount  of  honest 
sleep.  Once  awake,  the  matin  song  of  the  birds 
and  the  dewy  fragrance  of  the  awakening  flowers 
invited  his  soul,  and,  after  a  rapid,  but  quiet,  toilet, 
so  that  he  would  not  disturb  his  father,  who  en 
joyed  a  morning  slumber,  he  stole  softly  down  the 

105 


io6  THE  CLIMAX 

staircase  and  let  himself  out,  without  encountering 
anyone. 

He  walked  down  the  garden  and  along  the 
cinder-path,  in  the  opposite  direction  from  Main 
street,  past  four  more  houses  like  Von  Hagen's  and 
Raymond's,  and  then  struck  into  a  lane,  between 
snake-fences  and  hedgerows  alternately,  until  he 
found  himself  in  the  real  country.  Habitations  had 
ceased  altogether,  and  after  crossing  the  creek 
bridge  under  the  sycamores,  he  plunged  into  a 
thicket,  where  hundreds  of  birds  were  holding  noisy 
revel  in  the  tree-tops.  Throwing  himself  upon  a 
knoll  of  soft  moss  under  an  ancient  oak,  he  listened. 
He  could  hear  the  splashing  and  rippling  of  the 
creek  accompanying  the  bird-voices,  and  once  he 
caught  the  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  so  far  away  that  it 
was  sweetened  into  music.  Subconsciously,  he  be 
gan  to  gather  the  woodland  sounds  into  musical 
phrases  and  chords,  until  he  had  evolved  an  or 
derly  harmonic  theme.  The  composer  was  not  to 
be  denied.  He  took  a  folded  page  of  music-paper 
from  his  pocket  and  hastily  scribbled  some  notes 
until  he  had  enough  written  down  to  keep  the  mel 
ody  in  his  mind.  Pietro  loved  composition,  and  it 
was  his  habit  always  to  carry  paper  of  this  kind, 
ruled  with  the  five  lines  of  the  music  staff,  ready 
for  his  fountain-pen  at  any  time  or  place. 


THE  CLIMAX  107 

"There  is  the  foundation  of  something,  at  all 
events,"  he  said  to  himself,  at  last,  as  he  got  up, 
and,  sauntering  over  the  bridge,  the  way  he  had 
come,  turned  over  and  over  in  his  mind  the  musical 
thought  he  had  just  jotted  down. 

It  was  so  calm  and  still  that  he  could  hardly 
believe  -it  was  the  ordinary  every-day  condition 
even  of  this  country  place,  far  away  from  the  city's 
bustle  and  discord.  Born  and  bred  in  town,  he 
had  never  experienced  anything  quite  like  this,  and 
he  could  not  help  feeling  that  there  must  be  some 
noise  before  long.  It  might  not  be  so  unpleasant 
as  that  with  which  he  was  familiar  in  some  parts 
of  New  York,  but  surely  there  would  be  some.  All 
at  once,  he  understood — or  thought  he  did.  It  was 
Sunday  morning.  He  had  forgotten  it  until  now. 
Doubtless  that  was  the  reason  of  this  glorious 
quiet  vide.  On  other  mornings,  of  course,  there 
would  be  the  din  and  jar  of  man's  occupations. 
Perhaps  there  was  a  factory  or  two  not  far  off.  If 
not  that,  at  least,  there  must  be  other  smaller  in 
dustries,  dozens  of  them,  that  on  week  days  would 
break  rudely  on  the  ear  even  at  this  early  hour. 
Then  farm-hands  made  harsh  noises — bellowing  at 
their  horses  as  they  drove  strange  machines  of 
whirling  spikes  and  clanking  cogs  across  the  fields. 


io8  THE  CLIMAX 

All  these  would  be  heard  on  other  days.     But  not 
on  Sunday. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  Sunday,"  said  Pietro,  aloud, 
when  he  had  argued  it  all  out,  and  he  walked  on, 
congratulating  himself,  until  he  reached  the  garden 
gate  of  the  house  where  he  and  his  father  were 
guests. 

"Good  morning,  Pietro !" 

He  started  and  flushed  with  pleasure,  for  it  was 
the  voice  of  Adelina  Von  Hagen,  and  she  had  called 
him  by  his  given  name.  She  was  coming  down  the 
garden-path,  among  the  rose-bushes,  radiant  and 
fresh  as  the  morning  itself.  She  wore  her  usual 
white  summer  frock,  and  her  loosely-tressed  hair, 
burnished  by  the  golden  sunshine,  crowned  her 
with  "angelic  glory,"  as  Pietro  put  it  to  himself. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Von  Hagen,"  he  said. 
(It  was  a  commonplace  way  in  which  to  address 
an  angel,  but  he  could  not  think  of  anything  else 
to  say  at  the  moment.)  "I  have  been  for  a  walk. 
It  is  very  beautiful  here.  I  found  a  place  in  the 
wood  on  the  other  side  of  that  river  which — 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  merry  laugh,  hold 
ing  up  her  hands  deprecatingly. 

"Not  so  bad  as  that,  Pietro.  We  are  not  so 
benighted  in  Azalia  as  to  believe  our  poor  little 
creek  is  a  river." 


THE  CLIMAX  109 

"I'm  sorry  I  made  a  mistake,  Miss  Von  Hagen. 
I  was  only  going  to  say  that  the  wood  was  like  a 
fairy  dell." 

''You  are  a  poet,  Pietro." 

"I  am  a  musician,  Miss  Von  Hagen." 

"I  understand.  The  words  are  synonymous,  of 
course.  But  you  must  not  say  'Miss  Von  Hagen' 
when  you  speak  to  me.  We  are  cousins,  you  know, 
and  it  must  be  'Adelina.'  I  call  you  'Pietro.' 
Cousins  are  almost  like  brothers  and  sisters,  I  al 
ways  think." 

"But  there  is  a  difference,"  said  Pietro,  gravely, 
shaking  his  head.  "Although  I  never  had  a  sister, 
I'm  sure  you  would  never  be  like  one  to  me — Ade- 
lina." 

There !  He  had  said  it — to  her,  and  although 
he  had  repeated  the  name  to  himself  many  times 
since  he  had  first  met  her  as  a  grown-up  young 
lady  the  afternoon  before,  it  was  with  hesitation 
he  had  uttered  it  now,  almost  as  if  it  were  a  word 
difficult  to  pronounce.  And  certainly,  in  itself,  it 
was  not.  It  was  as  mellifluous  a  marshaling  of 
syllables  as  ever  made  up  a  girl's  name.  It  rolled 
off  the  tongue  of  that  Doctor  Raymond  smoothly 
enough — confound  him! 

"That's   right,   Pietro,"   she   said,  approvingly. 


i io  THE  CLIMAX 

"Always  call  me  'Adelina,'  because  we  are  going  to 
be  good  friends,  as  well  as  cousins,  I  am  sure." 

She  was  endeavoring  to  put  him  at  his  ease, 
and  he  rather  rebelled  inwardly  against  her  assist 
ance.  He  was  a  man — a  man  of  the  world — and  he 
should  not  be  bashful  before  a  girl,  no  matter 
how  fascinating  she  might  be.  But  he  was  not  at 
his  ease,  somehow,  and,  unhappily  for  his  pride, 
it  was  quite  apparent  to  her.  It  made  him  angry, 
but  only  with  himself. 

"I  suppose  there  is  some  distinction  between 
sisters  and  cousins,"  she  continued,  more  thought 
fully,  but  still  with  a  smile  dimpling  her  cheeks, 
as  they  walked  up  the  garden  toward  the  porch. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  that  old  song  about  cousins, 
Pietro?  One  of  the  verses  runs  like  this: 

"Had  you  ever  a  cousin,  Tom? 

Did  your  cousin  happen  to  sing? 
Sisters  we  have  by  the  dozen,  Tom ; 

But  a  cousin's  a  different  thing." 

She  sang  the  lines  to  an  old-fashioned  air,  while 
Pietro  listened  with  a  rapt  admiration  such  as  he 
might  have  bestowed  on  a  Miltonic  poem  in  a 
Beethoven  setting. 

"I  never  heard  that  verse,  but  it  is  full  of 
truth,"  was  his  sober  comment.  "I  am  glad  we  are 
cousins — distant  cousins." 


THE  CLIMAX  in 

She  only  laughed  at  this.  Too  unaffected  to 
pretend  she  did  not  know  what  the  speech  meant, 
it  would  have  been  tiresome  to  pursue  the  subject 
further.  So  she  told  him  her  father  was  down 
stairs — she  could  see  him  prowling  about  the  hall — 
and  therefore  they'd  better  go  in  for  breakfast. 

Harriet  Wylie  would  not  be  there,  to  take 
charge  of  the  household,  until  nine  o'clock.  There 
fore,  it  was  Adelina  who  prepared  breakfast  in  the 
summer  kitchen  and  served  it  in  the  adjoining  din 
ing-room,  and  all  without  bustle  or  excitement. 

Luigi  Golfanti  came  down  just  as  she  brought 
the  freshly-laid  eggs  to  the  table,  having  boiled 
them  to  the  exact  point  where  they  were  perfect, 
as  he  solemnly  declared  a  little  later.  Before  seat 
ing  himself  he  bowed  to  her,  and  then  to  her  father, 
with  a  grace  which  Adelina  thought  thoroughly 
Italian  and  charming,  as  she  took  her  place  behind 
the  coffee-urn. 

"Sit  here,  won't  you,  Signer  Golfanti,"  she 
said,  indicating  a  chair  on  her  right,  down  the  side 
of  the  table.  Her  father  was  on  her  left,  and  Pietro 
faced  her,  so  that  the  little  party  just  filled  the  four 
sides  of  the  square  table. 

"This  is  the  happiness,  to  be  so  near  the  beau 
tiful  prima  donna,"  said  Luigi,  as  he  took  his  cup 


ii2  THE  CLIMAX 

of  coffee  from  her,  making  a  playful  pretence  of 
kissing  her  fingers  during  the  process. 

"Take  care,  Signer.  You  will  spill  the  hot  cof 
fee  up  your  sleeve,"  she  warned  him. 

"What  I  care  for  that,  if  my  lips  touch  your 
hand?"  was  his  gallant  response. 

He  was  so  full  of  spirits,  so  loud  and  jovial, 
so  easy  in  his  badinage  with  the  girl,  that  Pietro 
envied  him  the  added  years  which  had  brought  with 
them  such  useful  self-possession. 

"Beautiful  eggs!"  observed  Luigi,  having  al 
ready  complimented  Adelina  on  the  cooking  of 
them.  "I  suppose  you  get  them  from  your  own 
chickens,  eh?" 

"Yes.  We  have  a  great  many  well-behaved 
hens,  who  serve  us  with  all  the  eggs  we  require  for 
the  table.  They  are  dominated  by  a  black  Spanish 
rooster,  and  he  sees  that  they  do  their  duty.  After 
breakfast  I  will  show  you  that  rooster." 

"Thanks." 

"You,  too,  Pietro,"  she  added,  quickly,  as  she 
saw  dawning  disappointment  in  his  face,  and  knew 
that  he  was  at  the  point  of  feeling  slighted. 

He  brightened  up  immediately,  and  as  Von 
Hagen,  who  had  been  silently  devouring  his  food 
and  absorbing  his  coffee,  without  taking  much 
notice  of  anything  else,  now  began  to  talk  about 


THE  CLIMAX  113 

the  stupidity  of  the  people  of  Azalia,  none  of  whom 
could  learn  to  play  the  violin,  Pietro  listened  with 
attention,  making  observations  on  music  from  time 
to  time  which  gave  Von  Hagen  a  high  opinion  of 
the  young  man's  discernment. 

The  two  visitors  had  made  great  way  into  the 
favor  of  both  father  and  daughter  since  they  had 
met  at  the  railroad  station.  The  night  before,  after 
supper,  there  had  been  music,  and  Pietro  had  had 
the  felicity  of  playing  accompaniments  for  several 
of  Adelina's  songs. 

John  Raymond  had  been  there,  and  Pietro  re 
joiced  that  this  doctor  could  not  play  the  piano. 
More  than  once,  as  he  played,  with  Adelina  stand 
ing  so  close  to  him  that  her  lace  sleeve  touched  his 
hair,  Pietro  looked  over  to  Raymond  to  see  how 
he  bore  it.  But  the  doctor  seemed  not  to  take  any 
particular  notice.  He  appeared  to  be  enjoying  the 
music,  as  he  lay  back  comfortably  in  a  low  rocker — 
Adelina's  own  chair — and,  if  he  was  jealous,  it  did 
not  appear  on  the  surface. 

"He  believes  he's  sure  of  her,  I  suppose." 

Pietro  ground  his  teeth  and  struck  such  a 
mighty  chord — so  much  louder  than  the  "/>."  on  his 
music  called  for — that  Adelina  looked  down  at  him 
in  astonishment,  and  Raymond  stopped  rocking  for 
an  instant. 


ii4  THE  CLIMAX 

But  the  evening  had  ended  without  any  out 
break — early,  as  was  the  custom  in  the  Von  Hagen 
household — and  Raymond  had  departed  with  a  sim 
ple  "Good  night"  to  her  in  the  well-lighted  music- 
room,  with  the  others  all  present.  There  had  been 
no  private  farewell  outside,  in  the  semi-darkness 
of  the  porch,  as  Pietro  had  feared  there  might  be. 
And  yet,  if  the  doctor  and  Adelina  had  chosen  to 
go  to  the  porch  to  say  "Good  night,"  what  busi 
ness  would  it  have  been  of  Pietro  Golfanti's? 

This  was  the  question  Pietro  asked  himself,  in 
monotonous  repetition,  this  morning,  always  with 
out  finding  an  answer,  as,  after  breakfast,  Adelina 
took  them  to  the  back  yard  and  showed  him  and 
his  father  the  lordly  black  Spanish  rooster,  step 
ping  high  among  the  cackling  hens  who  darted 
hither  and  thither  to  gobble  down  the  dainty  mor 
sels  he  scratched  up  for  them.  When  they  re 
turned  to  the  house  to  get  ready  for  church  it  was 
still  in  his  mind. 

Afterward  it  became  painfully  insistent  as  he 
caught  glimpses  of  the  flowers  in  her  hat  above 
the  red  curtains  of  the  choir-gallery,  while  her 
father  played  the  organ  prelude  and  the  Reverend 
Thomas  Treadhouse  took  his  place  on  the  pulpit 
platform. 

Pietro  was  crlad  he  and  his  father  were  seated 


THE  CLIMAX  115 

in  front  of  John  Raymond,  so  that  it  was  not  neces 
sary  to  look  at  the  doctor  at  all  during  the  service. 
Adelina  had  walked  to  church  with  Pietro,  her 
father  and  Luigi,  and  Pietro  had  seen  Raymond 
enter  later,  going  to  a  pew  without  the  opportunity 
of  exchanging  a  word  or  look  with  her.  There  was 
some  satisfaction  in  that. 

The  service  began,  and  Pietro  would  have 
liked  to  wring  the  neck  of  Adolph  Schwartz  for 
standing  so  close  to  her  while  they  sang  the  "Ex- 
ultemns."  Luigi  did  not  notice  Adolph's  misde 
meanor.  He  was  taken  up  with  the  music,  and, 
while  thinking  how  good  a  choir  it  was  for  a  coun 
try  church,  gave  much  of  the  credit  for  its  excel 
lence  to  the  soprano,  whose  pure  quality  had  al 
ready  filled  his  musician's  soul  with  delight  when 
Adelina  sang  bits  from  the  operas  he  knew  so  well 
on  the  evening  before. 

Pietro  appreciated  the  voice,  too,  but  it  is  to 
be  feared  that,  for  the  time  being,  he  was  more  in 
terested  in  the  singer  than  her  work.  He  calmed 
down,  however,  when  he  thought  he  saw  that  she 
deliberately  snubbed  the  blond  tenor  by  turning 
her  back  on  him.  Then  Pietro  was  able  to  con 
centrate  his  attention  on  the  music. 

Adelina's  part  in  the  quartette  gave  earnest  of 
what  she  would  do  in  the  solo,  and  it  was  only 


Ii6  THE  CLIMAX 

Luic;i  and  Pietro  who  were  filled  with  eager  antici 
pation  when  at  last  she  stood  up  alone  to  sing  the 
selection  from  Haydn's  "Creation"  which  she  had 
chosen  for  her  first  single  number  in  St.  Jude's 
choir.  The  church  was  full,  and  everyone  was 
anxious  to  hear  how  the  new  soprano  would  acquit 
herself. 

This  solo  would  be  Adelina's  supreme  test,  and 
although  her  father  and  John  Raymond  both  were 
certain  that  she  would  come  through  it  in  triumph, 
and  Susan  Treadhouse,  while  devoutly  hoping  she 
would  fail,  had  not  the  slightest  expectation  of  any 
thing  of  the  kind,  Adelina  could  not  repress  alto 
gether  a  tremor  of  nervousness  as  she  faced  the 
congregation  by  herself,  while  her  father  ran  over 
the  prelude  on  the  organ.  But  the  nervousness 
vanished  as  she  began  to  sing.  The  beautiful  words 
of  "With  Verdure  Clad,"  with'  the  majestic  music 
to  which  they  were  wedded,  made  her  forget  all  else. 
Her  technique  was  so  nearly  perfect  that  only  the 
highly-trained  and  sensitive  ear  of  Luigi  Golfanti 
might  detect  any  shortcoming,  and  even  he  was 
not  sure.  Her  father,  who  had  his  own  cares  with 
the  organ — for  there  was  a  novice  at  the  pump, 
and  he  was  fearful  that  his  supply  of  wind  might 
run  out  at  any  moment — noted  that  her  time  was 
correct,  and  therefore  was  satisfied  with  her  sing- 


THE  CLIMAX  117 

ing.  John  Raymond  enjoyed  it,  but  with  the  inde 
finable  pang  at  his  heart  that  always  was  there 
when  she  sang  in  public. 

Susan  Treadhouse  mentally  admitted  that  she 
could  not  have  done  it  any  better  herself.  Mrs. 
Solomon  Potter,  Miss  Crupp,  Mrs.  Wilkins  and 
other  members  of  the  Sewing  Circle  liked  the 
music  so  much  that  they  were  inclined  to  believe 
it  was  wicked  to  let  it  be  sung  in  church.  As  Mrs. 
Potter  said  afterward,  she  felt  almost  as  if  she 
were  "at  the  Eyetalian  opera,  listenin'  to  one  o' 
them  actresses  in  short  skirts  an'  flesh-colored 
tights  I've  heerd  tell  about."  Mrs.  Potter's  impres 
sions  of  the  lyric  stage  were  confined  to  what  she 
had  been  told  by  people  whose  information,  like 
her  own,  was  derived  from  hearsay,  and  she  never 
could  divest  herself  of  the  conviction  that  every 
prominent  cantatrice  was  habitually  costumed  like 
a  ballet-dancer.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Treadhouse,  who 
had  a  sincere  love  of  music,  although  he  never 
could  sing  a  note,  sat  through  the  solo  in  a  reverie 
of  delight,  one  knee  crossed  over  the  other,  and  his 
two  hands,  joined  by  the  tips  of  the  fingers,  gently 
oscillating  in  front  of  him. 

The  first  movement  of  the  melody  was  soft  and 

low,  but  low  as  it  was,  not  much   more   than   a 

whisper,  the  girl's  rich  tones  penetrated  to  every 


u8  THE  CLIMAX 

corner  of  the  church.  As  she  went  on  there  were 
brilliant  passages  of  greater  volume,  with  several 
that  called  forth  all  the  power  of  execution  that  a 
cultivated  voice  should  possess.  Adelina  was  equal 
to  them  all,  and  when  at  last  she  stood  silent,  while 
the  organ  finished  the  accompaniment,  there  were 
many  there,  notably  Luigi  Golfanti,  who  would 
have  liked  to  give  vent  to  their  feelings  in  vigorous 
applause.  Indeed,  Luigi  actually  had  raised  his 
hands,  as  if  about  to  clap  them  together,  and  per 
haps  would  have  done  so,  had  not  Pietro,  aware 
of  his  father's  propensity  to  forget  everything  else 
when  in  a  state  of  musical  ecstasy,  pulled  his 
sleeve,  to  remind  him  that  he  was  in  a  church,  and 
not  an  opera  house. 

Adelina  could  not  escape  the  numerous  con 
gratulations  awaiting  her  at  the  end  of  the  service, 
but  she  got  away  as  soon  as  she  could,  and, 
with  a  general  smile  to  the  enthusiastic  congrega 
tion  massed  on  the  steps,  and  after  a  grasp  of  the 
hand  demanded  by  Daddy  Wylie — who  was  dodder 
ing  about  on  the  sidewalk,  determined  to  tell  her 
that  she  was  a  "gosh-blamed  good  singer,  by 
heck !" — she  took  her  father's  arm  and  whispered  to 
him  to  hurry.  She  wanted  to  get  to  her  own  room 
before  John  Raymond  would  have  a  chance  to 


THE  CLIMAX  119 

speak  to  her.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  stand 
him  just  now. 

How  it  would  have  rejoiced  Pietro  could  he 
have  known  why  she  ran  away,  leaving  him 
hemmed  in  by  a  group  of  ladies,  to  whom  Mrs. 
Potter  was  introducing  him  and  his  father  with 
much  unction,  as  "Signer"  (with  a  hard  "g")  Gol- 
fanti  and  Mr.  Pietro  Golfanti,  of  New  York." 
Mrs.  Potter  had  previously  caught  John  Raymond 
and  demanded  an  introduction  to  them  for  herself, 
so  that  she  could  assume  the  office  of  sponsor  for 
the  distinguished  strangers  to  the  other  ladies. 
Pietro  saw  Adelina  go  away  with  her  father,  and, 
while  he  was  disappointed  that  he  had  not  been 
able  to  walk  with  her,  he  had  the  consolation  of 
noting  that  Doctor  Raymond  also  was  shipwrecked 
with  himself  and  his  father  in  this  roaring  sea  of 
feminine  curiosity  and  inconsequential  jabber. 

Adelina  did  not  cry  on  her  bed  this  Sunday, 
as  she  had  done  a  week  before.  There  were  two 
reasons  why  she  did  not.  She  was  happy  in  her 
success,  and  she  had  made  up  her  mind.  The  bit 
ter  mental  struggle  when  she  had  wept  over 
her  mother's  opera  score  had  cleared  the  air  for 
her,  and  she  knew  now  that  she  had  reached  an 
irrevocable  decision  for  the  future.  Sooner  or  later 
she  must  burst  the  bonds  that  held  her  in  this  nar- 


120  THE  CLIMAX 

row  life.  Her  wings  were  spread  already  to  carry 
her  into  the  boundless  ether  of  art,  and  she  must 
make  the  flight,  no  matter  where  it  might  end.  It 
was  to  be  alone  with  her  ambition  for  a  few  min 
utes  that  she  had  hastened  home  with  her  father. 
As  she  went  up  the  stairs  she  heard  him  grumbling 
at  Harriet  because  the  dinner  would  be  fifteen 
minutes  late. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"And  Death  in  time  doth  change 
It  to  a  clod  of  clay." 

Adelina  settled  down  into  her  place  in  the 
quartette  as  if  she  found  in  it  all  the  scope  for  her 
musical  development  that  she  could  desire.  No 
doubt  she  would  be  entirely  satisfied  now.  That 
was  John  Raymond's  hope.  She  never  had  said 
anything  about  her  determination  to  sing  in 
opera  since  the  Sunday  on  which  she  first  be 
came  part  of  St.  Jude's  choir.  What  was  in  her 
mind  in  that  connection  no  one  knew  but  herself. 
She  filled  her  duties,  household  as  well  as  musical, 
to  the  satisfaction  of  her  father  and  the  music  com 
mittee,  and  if  a  vision  of  a  great  opera  house,  filled 
with  applauding  people,  was  often  before  her,  she 
kept  the  picture  hidden  away  as  one  of  the  secret 
treasures  of  her  mind.  When  she  stood  up,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  to  sing  some  song  of  praise  or  sup 
plication  to  the  music  on  one  of  the  immortals  of 
the  past,  she  may  have  compared  the  ugly  little 

121 


122  THE  CLIMAX 

choir-gallery,  with  its  tawdry  furnishings,  to  the 
magnificent  theatre  of  her  dreams  in  which  she 
was  resolved  to  sing  some  day.  In  fact,  she  did. 
An  ambitious  girl's  thoughts  will  run  away  with 
her  sometimes,  you  know. 

No  one  in  St.  Jude's  congregation  caught  any 
suggestion  of  these  dreams  in  her  looks,  however. 
Her  demeanor  in  the  choir  was  that  of  one  thor 
oughly  contented.  Adolph  Schwartz  irritated  her 
a  little.  But  she  interposed  a  barrier  of  incredu 
lous  amusement  when  he  tried  to  be  sentimen 
tal,  and  he  never  could  break  through  or  climb 
over.  The  other  two  members  of  the  quartette  at 
tended  strictly  to  their  own  affairs.  Mile.  Marie 
Connor  sang  her  contralto  music  with  the  care  and 
precision  that  had  made  her  a  successful  milliner. 
Those  qualities  are  as  valuable  in  a  choir-gallery 
as  in  a  shop.  Saul  Hunter  contributed  his  resonant 
bass  regularly,  but  harvest  time  was  approaching, 
and  there  were  hard  days  ahead  in  the  wheat  fields. 
Saul  wished  the  church  would  close  for  two 
months,  at  least.  But  there  would  be  no  such  ex 
tended  vacation  as  that  for  St.  Jude's  choir.  It 
was  customary  to  suspend  service  for  two  Sundays 
in  August,  to  give  the  pastor  a  rest;  that  was  all. 
The  people  of  Azalia  did  not  leave  home  in  the 
summer,  and  there  was  not  the  excuse,  made  for 


THE  CLIMAX  123 

city  churches,  that  there  would  be  no  attendance 
in  the  heated  term,  anyhow,  and  therefore  the  pas 
tor  might  as  well  go  to  the  seashore,  or  to  Europe 
— or  to  Jericho,  if  he  pleased. 

So  Adelina  sang  in  the  choir,  while  the  sum 
mer  passed.  Saul  Hunter  helped  to  get  in  the 
wheat  in  due  course;  Mile.  Marie  Connor  was 
studying  the  New  York  magazines  for  the  Paris 
fall  hat  fashions,  and  Adolph  Schwartz  said  he  had 
never  before  done  such  a  rushing  trade  at  the  drug 
store  in  ice-cream  sodas,  sundaes  and  "Knocksie." 
Summer  was  almost  ready  to  gasp  its  last.  August 
had  arrived,  and  soon  it  would  be  September,  and 
then  October. 

Heinrich  Von  Hagen  had  had  a  letter  from  Luigi 
Golfanti,  saying  that  he  had  sent  him  a  certain 
Joachim  "Scherzo"  for  the  violin  about  which  Von 
Hagen  had  spoken  enthusiastically  and  covetously 
when  Luigi  and  his  son  were  in  Azalia.  Accom 
panying  the  "Scherzo"  was  a  manuscript  composi 
tion  by  Pietro,  full  of  lilting  melody,  and  with 
queer  little  turns  and  unexpected  chromatics  sug 
gesting  the  sounds  of  the  woods  on  a  summer  morn 
ing.  Even  before  her  father  told  her  the  Pietro 
music  was  for  her,  she  knew  it,  and  when  she  sa\v 
it  was  entitled  "Azalia — A  Fragment,"  she  needed 
not  to  to  informed  where  the  composer  had  found 


124  THE  CLIMAX 

his  inspiration.  There  were  no  words,  but  the 
melody  was  there  in  a  single  line,  as  if  for  the  voice, 
with  the  rippling  accompaniment,  in  full  harmony 
for  the  piano,  underneath. 

"I  must  go  and  try  it,"  she  cried,  delightedly, 
as  soon  as  the  sheet  of  paper  was  in  her  hand. 

Going  to  the  piano,  she  sang  a  "La-la-la-la" 
for  the  voice  part,  playing  the  accompaniment  with 
an  easy,  flowing,  sure  touch,  due  primarily  to  those 
endless  Czerny  exercises  she  had  begun  as  a  child. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?"  she  called  out  to  her 
father,  over  her  shoulder.  "Pietro  should  be  a1 
*reat  composer  some  day.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"It's  musicianly,"  admitted  her  father,  as  he 
took  out  his  violin  to  try  the  "Scherzo."  "Of 
course,  it's  founded  on  a  Mendelssohn  movement — • 
there's  no  mistaking  that — but  it  has  as  much  origi 
nality  as  you  ever  find  in  a  piece  written  now 
adays." 

This  was  as  high  praise  as  Heinrich  Von 
Hagen  ever  would  vouchsafe  to  a  modern  composi 
tion — more  than  he  gave  usually.  Adelina  did  not 
care  whether  Mendelssohn  had  suggested  it  to  Pie 
tro  or  not.  It  breathed  the  odor  of  the  woods  and 
flowers,  and  echoed  the  songs  of  the  wild  birds, 
and  probably  Mendelssohn  knew  nothing  about 
them  now.  How  vividly  the  music  brought  to 


THE  CLIMAX  125 

her  the  dewy  morning  in  June  when  Pietro  came 
back  from  his  early  stroll  and  talked  to  her  in  the 
garden  about  cousins ! 

"Pietro  is  a  very  interesting  boy,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "I  hope  he'll  marry  some  nice  girl — when 
IK'S  old  enough." 

Pietro  was  only  a  few  weeks  younger  than 
herself,  but  a  youth  of  nineteen  is  a  mere  child  to 
many  girls  of  the  same  age. 

She  sang  over  her  "Fragment"  twice,  and  then 
was  required  to  furnish  the  piano  accompaniment 
for  the  Joachim  piece,  while  her  father  hugged  his 
violin  lovingly  under  his  chin  and  swept  the  bow 
across  the  strings  with  a  freedom  and  grace  which 
proclaimed  him  master  of  his  instrument.  Playing 
his  violin  was  Heinrich  Von  Hagen's  compensation 
for  what  he  called  his  "pile-driving"  at  the  organ. 

John  Raymond  heard  the  "Scherzo"  as  he 
walked  swiftly  down  his  garden  on  his  way  to  call 
on  his  patients.  He  remarked  that  it  was 
"pretty,"  and  then  dismissed  it  from  his  mind.  He 
had  no  time  for  music  just  then.  Dr.  Simmons — 
who  had  been  present  professionally  when  most  of 
the  younger  generation  of  Azalians  came  into  the 
world — had  a  large  part  of  the  practice  of  Azalia 
and  the  outlying  country,  but  left  it  mostly  to  Ray 
mond.  He  was  getting  old,  and  was  willing 


126  THE  CLIMAX 

enough  to  turn  over  to  the  younger  man  such  cases 
as  would  consent  to  the  substitution.  So  John  was 
kept  fairly  busy,  and  had,  besides,  the  advantage 
of  Dr.  Simmons'  counsel,  when  confronted  with 
some  baffling  medical  problem.  Sooner  or  later, 
however,  the  young  doctor  meant  to  get  to  New 
York,  to  spend  perhaps  a  year  in  the  hospitals 
there,  and  to  study  under  more  favorable  condi 
tions  the  close  and  deep  relation  between  the  body 
and  the  soul  to  which  science  has  given  the  name 
of  psychophysics.  This  branch  of  his  profession 
had  interested  him  more  than  anything  else  he 
had  probed  into  as  a  medical  student,  and  he  w?nted 
to  learn  all  about  it  that  modern  research  had 
brought  out.  Nowhere,  he  was  sure,  could  he  do 
that  so  well  as  in  New  York. 

Raymond  walked  briskly  about  on  this  morn 
ing.  It  was  one  of  his  busy  days.  He  saw  that 
little  Lucy  Williams  was  progressing  favor 
ably  with  the  measles  and  warned  her  mother 
not  to  let  her  take  cold ;  put  a  fresh  poultice  on 
Franz  Eberhardt's  "run-around ;"  prescribed  pow 
ders  for  Miss  Crupp's  nerves,  and  cheerfully  poured 
a  powder  on  her  tongue,  to  show  her  how  they 
were  to  be  taken ;  gave  Colonel  Granger,  landlord 
of  the  hotel,  some  advice  as  to  his  diet,  and  told 
him  to  take  a  calomel  pill  to  relieve  the  fullness  in 


THE  CLIMAX  127 

his  head;  looked  at  the  plaster  cast  on  the  broken 
leg  of  Joe  Dunning,  the  carpenter,  as  he  lay  in 

bed,  fuming  at  the  confinement,  and  went  to  half 
a  dozen  other  places  before  getting  into  his  buggy 
at  the  hotel,  to  drive  out  to  the  country. 

There  were  a  great  many  miles  to  be  covered 
in  the  buggy  outside  of  Azalia.  Farms  lie  far  apart 
in  that  region,  and  as  the  patients  Doctor  Raymond 
had  to  visit  were  all  in  farmers'  families,  the  ser 
viceable  road  mare  he  drove  no  doubt  felt  that  she 
had  earned  her  oats  when  at  last  she  rounded  Hun 
ter's  barn  and  came  trotting  down  the  white  road 
on  the  homestretch.  Raymond  was  hot  and  tired 
when,  having  delivered  the  rig  to  Sammy  Granger 
—yawning,  as  usual,  he  walked  toward  home  and 
sapper. 

John  Raymond  never  could  say  certainly 
whether  he  had  a  premonition  of  evil  that  after 
noon,  even  before  he  turned  into  his  own  street — 
whether  some  occult  power  brought  to  his  con 
sciousness  a  vague  warning  of  what  he  would  find 
when  he  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  further.  While 
he  was  not  superstitious,  he  did  believe  there  were 
psychic  forces,  unsuspected  until  late  years,  ever 
actively  taking  a  part  in  human  affairs.  He  thought 
afterward  that  he  must  have  known  something  »f 
what  Adelina  had  to  show  him,  when,  white-faced 


128  THE  CLIMAX 

and  trembling,  she  called  to  him  as  he  was  about 
to  open  his  own  gate,  and  asked  him  to  come  in 
and  see  her  father. 

"What  is  it,  Addie?     Is  he  ill?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  in  a  low, 
strained  voice.  "Please  come." 

"Of  course  I  will." 

He  walked  swiftly  up  the  garden-path,  past 
the  flower-beds,  where  the  pansies  still  bloomed, 
and  through  the  porch  to  the  interior  of  the  house. 
The  girl  was  close  behind  him. 

Once  inside,  it  was  not  necessary  to  ask  her 
where  he  would  find  her  father.  The  door  of  the 
music-room,  on  the  left  of  the  hall,  was  wide  open. 
Stretched  diagonally  across  the  drugget  which 
covered  the  centre  of  the  otherwise  bare  floor,  was 
Heinrich  Von  Hagen,  face  downward. 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  go  out  to  the  fresh  air," 
whispered  Raymond. 

Adelina  shook  her  head.  She  was  already  in 
side  the  room. 

"I  want  to  see,"  she  said,  hoarsely.  "I  moved 
his  head  a  little  before  I  went  out,  but  his  face 
frightened  me,  and  I  ran  away,  down  the  garden. 
Then  I  saw  you  coming,  and  now  I  am  not  afraid." 

John  Raymond  gently  forced  her  upon  a  chair 
near  the  door,  a*nd  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  still 


THE  CLIMAX  129 

figure  on  the  drugget.  With  the  coolness  of  his 
profession — for  he  was  now  a  physician,  and  noth 
ing  more — he  placed  his  two  hands  underneath  and 
turned  over  what  a  few  minutes  before  had  been 
Heinrich  Von  Hagen.  In  moving  it,  his  doctor's 
instinct  made  him  seize  one  of  the  wrists.  His 
other  hand  went  inside  the  waistcoat,  to  find  the 
heart.  There  was  a  minute  of  silence,  and  then 
Raymond,  looking  pityingly  at  Adelina,  said,  as 
he  pointed  to  a  shattered  violin  on  the  floor : 

"He  was  playing  when  stricken,  evidently." 

"Yes." 

"Was  he  alone?" 

"Yes.     I  was  in  the  kitchen,  getting  supper." 

"Well?" 

"I  heard  him  playing — a  new  piece  of  music 
he  got  from  New  York  to-day — and  then,  just  as 
he  reached  the  most  brilliant  passage,  at  the  end, 
he — he — broke  down.  It  was  so  unusual  for  him 
to  do  anything  of  that  kind  that  I  stopped  what 
I  was  doing  in  the  kitchen,  to  listen.  He  went 
back  to  the  beginning  of  the  difficult  part  and  tried 
again.  He  played  not  more  than  two  measures, 
and  then  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  violin  screamed 
for  help.  Before  I  could  move  I  heard  him  groan, 
and  then  fall." 

She  had  taken  one  of  John  Raymond's  hands 


130  THE  CLIMAX 

as  he  stood  before  her  to  hide  what  lay  on  the 
drugget.  He  regarded  her  anxiously  and  pressed 
two  steady  fingers  against  her  wrist.  Her  pulse 
was  galloping. 

"You  ran  to  him,  and  then  went  out  of  the 
house  to  look  for  assistance?"  he  suggested. 

"Yes.     But  you  have  not  told  me.     Is  he — '' 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  and  Raymond 
nodded  gravely. 

"Cardiacal  collapse,"  he  said.  "Heart  failure. 
It  was  practically  instantaneous.  Come  with  me. 
My  sister  will  take  care  of  you.  I  will  attend  to 
everything  necessary  here." 

He  kept  her  hand  as  she  rose  from  the  chair, 
and  carefully  keeping  between  her  and  the  drugget, 
led  her  out  of  the  house  and  around  to  his  own 
door,  where  Carrie  met  them,  with  a  look  of  as 
tonishment  that  made  her  eyes  seem  twice  their 
natural  size. 

"Carrie,  take  her  to  your  own  room,"  said 
John  Raymond.  "She  has  had  a  great  shock  and 
needs  quiet.  Don't  ask  her  questions." 

Carrie  wanted  to  ask  a  lot  of  questions,  but,  as 
her  brother  was  not  accustomed  to  giving  per 
emptory  orders  except  in  his  character  of  physi 
cian,  she  understood  at  once  that  he  must  be 
obeyed.  She  put  an  arm  affectionately  around 


THE  CLIMAX  131 

Adelina,  while  Raymond  remained  on  the  porch, 
watching  them. 

"My  father  is  dead,  Carrie." 

This  was  said  altogether  too  calmly  to  please 
the  doctor.  It  did  not  speak  well  for  the  state  of 
the  nerves  when  a  girl  could  tell  without  a  quiver 
of  such  a  happening.  He  gave  Carrie  a  look  which 
conveyed  to  her  that  she  must  not  ask  for  details. 
So,  with  her  arm  still  around  Adelina,  she  mur 
mured,  sympathetically : 

"I  feared  it  was  something  like  that,  dear. 
Well,  it  comes  to  us  all  in  a  very  few  years.  It 
may  be  that  it's  better  when  it  is  sudden.  It  spares 
lingering  pain  for  those  who  are  left  behind,  as  well 
as  for  the  one  who  passes  away.  Then  you  have 
the  comfort  of  knowing  that  you  always  were  a 
dutiful,  affectionate  daughter,  and  that  he  knew, 
it,  too." 

Merely  commonplace  consolation,  offered  by  a 
commonplace  young  woman.  But  who  that  has  had 
a  grief  like  Adelina's  does  not  know  how  soothing 
these  commonplaces  can  be  to  a  bruised  heart? 

She  wept  quietly  as  she  went  up  stairs  with 
Carrie  Raymond,  while  John  returned  to  the  house 
where,  on  the  floor  of  the  music-room,  with  up 
turned  face,  lay  the  dead  man,  a  broken  violin  on 
one  side  of  him  and  a  bow  on  the  other.  Raymond 


132  THE  CLIMAX 

started  involuntarily  as  he  entered,  for  the  setting 
sun,  striking  the  drugget  with  a  powerful  shaft  of 
red  light,  made  a  large  rose  in  the  pattern  look 
like  blood. 

"Not  so  bad  as  that,  thank  heaven,"  he  mur 
mured,  as  he  placed  his  handkerchief  over  the  face. 
"A  death  like  this  is  a  tragedy  under  any  circum 
stances,  but  I  am  glad  he  didn't  do  it  himself.  I 
have  always  been  a  little  afraid  of  suicide  with 
him." 

In  his  quiet  way,  Raymond  had  long  studied 
the  grumpy  musician,  who  had  missed  his  road  in 
the  world  somehow,  and  so  had  run  into  this  ob 
scure  corner,  to  hide  himself,  a  disappointed,  re 
sentful  man.  If  the  man's  disgust  had  been  active, 
instead  of  passive,  he  might  have  gone  forth  and 
fought  and  fought  his  way  to  success.  It  was  be 
cause  Von  Hagen  had  always  lacked  healthy  am 
bition  that  Raymond  had  been  apprehensive  of  his 
falling  into  a  despondency  at  some  time  or  other 
which  would  end  in  the  way  suggested  by  that 
blood-red  spot  on  the  drugget. 

Closing  and  locking  both  the  front  and  back 
doors  carefully,  John  Raymond  went  up  to  Solo 
mon  Potter's  house,  and,  finding  him  warm  and 
greasy,  enjoying  his  supper  in  the  society  of  his 
spouse,  apologized  to  Mrs.  Potter  for  disturbing 


THE  CLIMAX  133 

him  at  such  a  time,  but  begged  the  favor  of  a  few 
words  with  him  on  business.  The  door  leading  to 
the  living-room  being  open,  on  account  of  the  heat, 
Raymond  had  stood  in  the  shop  and  addressed  the 
worthy  lady  from  a  respectful  distance. 

"You're  quite  excusable,  Doctor,"  she  replied, 
graciously.  "Business  must  always  come  first,  as 
I  often  says  to  Solomon.  Only  five  minutes  ago 
my  very  words  was:  'Solomon/  I  says,  'we  never 
know,'  says  I,  'when  you  may  be  called  on,  and 
therefore,'  I  says,  'eat  your  supper  while  you  have 
time,  because  if  anyone  comes  to  see  you,'  I  says, 
'you'll  quit  eatin'  right  there.  Times  are  hard,'  says 
I,  'and  we  can't  afford  to  lose  no  chance  to  make  an 
honest  dollar  just  for  the  sake  of  supper,'  I  says." 

While  Mrs.  Potter  delivered  herself  of  this 
harangue  with  her  accustomed  volubility,  Solomon, 
with  a  regretful  backward  glance  at  his  plate — 
he  having  just  arrived  at  the  huckleberry-pie  stage 
of  his  repast — went  out  to  the  shop  and  stood  at 
the  front  door,  while  his  visitor  told  him,  in  a  few 
words,  that  Heinrich  Von  Hagen  was  dead,  and 
that  the  services  of  Mr.  Potter,  as  undertaker,  were 
required. 

"Gosh!  Is  that  so?"  ejaculated  Solomon,  ac 
tually  excited  over  the  news — a  remarkable  thing 
for  him,  since  he  regarded  death  usually  as  simply 


134  THE  CLIMAX 

a  slight  boom  in  business.  Then,  raising  his  voice, 
he  called  out  to  his  wife:  "Hannah,  what  do  you 
think?  Doc  Raymond  says — " 

"That  I'm  going  to  try  to  get  Mr.  Potter  a 
regular  boy  to  pump  the  organ  this  fall,"  inter 
rupted  John  Raymond,  quickly.  "It's  a  shame  to 
make  the  sexton  do  it,  Mrs.  Potter."  Adding,  in 
an  undertone,  to  Solomon:  "Don't  tell  anybody 
about  the  death  till  to-morrow.  There  are  particu 
lar  reasons." 

"All  right,  Doc,"  whispered  Solomon.  "I 
didn't  know." 

"I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  get  a  regular  boy, 
Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Potter.  "I  declare  I  get  all 
wore  out  tryin'  to  keep  clean  shirts  on  my  husband 
when  he  has  to  work  at  that  plaguey  organ.  As  I 
says  to  him,  says  I :  'You  are  paid  to  be  sexton,' 
I  says,  'not  assistant  organist.  You  ought  to  be 
paid  for  it,'  I  says,  'if  they  make  you  do  it  all  the 
while,'  I  says,  'and  you  ought  to  get  more  than 
Professor  Hagen,'  says  I,  'because  you  work  harder 
than  he  does,'  I  says,  'and  there  couldn't  be  no 
music  without  you,'  I  says.  So  I'm  glad  to  hear 
the  music  committee  has  took  it  up,  Doctor  Ray 
mond,  an'  me  an'  my  husband  will  give  you  a 
vote  of  thanks  if  you  do  get  him  a  boy  to  pump 
that  dratted  organ  reg'lar,  an' " 


THE  CLIMAX  135 

Mrs.  Potter  broke  off  suddenly,  as  Solomon, 
who  had  unobtrusively  put  on  his  coat  and  hat — 
which  he  kept  in  a  closet  in  a  corner  of  the  shop, 
with  the  embalming-fluid  bottles — went  to  the 
front  door  and  slipped  out  to  the  street.  She  looked 
at  her  husband  as  if  she  could  not  believe  her  eyes. 
Then  she  asked,  in  an  awed  tone  of  wonder  and  in 
credulity  : 

"Surely  you're  not  goin'  out  without  eatin' 
your  huckleberry-pie,  Solomon  Potter,  are  you?" 

"I  must,"  he  replied,  hastily.  "Doc  Raymond 
wants  me  to  go  at  once." 

"To  see  about  the  boy  for  the  pump,"  explained 
Raymond. 

"For  the  land's  sake!  Well,  who  is  the  boy? 
I  know  every  boy  in  town,  an'  I  can't  think  of  one 
who'd  be  likely  to  stick  to  the  job  reg'lar.  It  ain't 
that  Jimmy  Swift,  is  it?  T\^D  one  couldn't  place  no 
dependence  in  him.  'Thout  it's  him,  though,  I 
dunno  who  you  could  get,  'cept  one  of  the  Poler 
boys,  an'  they  ain't — " 

Mrs.  Potter  might  have  gone  on  speculating  in 
definitely  had  not  John  Raymond  cut  her  short  by 
saying  that  the  boy  had  not  been  selected  yet,  and 
dragged  Solomon  out  of  the  quizzing  zone  by  main 
strength. 

"You  understand,  Mr.  Potter,"  Raymond  said 


T36  THE  CLIMAX 

to  him,  as  they  walked  away.  "Miss  Von  Hagen 
is  not  in  a  condition  to  see  anyone.  Don't  let  it  be 
known  about  town  what  has  happened  until  to 
morrow  afternoon.  I  suppose  we  can't  keep  it  from 
the  public  longer  than  that.  Meanwhile,  don't  tell 
anybody." 

"If  we  can  keep  it  secret  till  to-morrow  we'll  be 
lucky.  I'm  awfully  afraid  my  wife  will  corkscrew 
it  out  of  me  somehow  before  I  go  to  sleep  to-night," 
muttered  Solomon  Potter,  dubiously. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"Yearaing  for  the  large  excitement  that  the  coming 

years  would  yield, 

Eag'er-hearted  as  a  boy  when  first  he  leaves  his 
father's  field." 

Fortunately  for  his  plan  to  give  Adelina  a  lit 
tle  time  in  which  to  recover  from  the  shock,  by 
withholding  the  fact  of  her  father's  death  from 
the  public  until  [the  morrow,  Doctor  John  Ray 
mond,  as  assistant  to  Doctor  Simmons,  who  held 
the  office  of  Coroner  for  the  county,  was  empow 
ered  to  act  as  Deputy-Coroner.  Being  a  physician, 
he  could  and  did  prepare  a  death  certificate,  which 
he  duly  signed.  By  a  little  stretching  of  the  letter 
of  the  law,  he  had  decided  that  an  inquest  was  not 
necessary. 

Adelina  remained  with  Carrie  that  night,  while 
John  Raymond — having  seen  that  Mr.  Potter,  after 
a  trip  to  his  shop  for  certain  articles  needed  in  his 
grisly  calling,  had  made  "him"  look  presentable, 
lying  on  what  Solomon  called  a  "cooling  board" — 
sat  down,  witk  a  book,  in  the  music-room,  to 
"watch." 

137 


138  THE  CLIMAX 

It  was  a  large  funeral.  Not  often  did  Azalia 
enjoy  the  excitement  of  burying  so  prominent  a 
fellow-citizen  as  Heinrich  Von  Hagen  had  been, 
and  it  made  the  most  of  the  present  occasion.  Solo 
mon  Potter,  as  "funeral  director,"  was  proud  of  it. 
He  had  attended  personally  to  every  detail  and,  as 
he  said,  afterward,  "everything  was  just  right,  from 
the  corpse  to  the  church  bell."  St.  Jude's  was 
crowded  when  the  Reverend  Thomas  Treadhouse 
arose  to  begin  the  service. 

The  casket  had  been  placed  in  front  of  the 
pulpit,  and  close  to  it  sat  Adelina,  a  solitary  black- 
gowned  figure  which  never  moved.  She  was  the 
only  mourner.  Those  who  could  see  her  face, 
when  the  black  veil  was  pushed  back  over  her 
hat,  said  that  she  did  not  shed  a  tear.  Why 
she  did  not  Adelina  herself  could  not  have  told. 
Possibly  she  had  exhausted  her  grief  and  horror  in 
that  first  outburst  when  she  went  up  stairs  with 
Carrie  Raymond.  She  would  miss  her  father  be 
cause  he  was  her  father,  and  also  because  they  t\vo 
had  been  alone  together  for  most  of  her  life.  But 
there  never  had  been  much  affection  between  them. 
He  was  a  morose  sort  of  man,  who  felt  that  he  had 
been  ill-treated  by  the  world,  and  in  brooding  over 
his  own  wrongs  he  had  given  little  regard  to  the 
girl  growing  up  under  his  eyes.  On  the  other  hand, 


THE  CLIMAX  139 

Adelina  believed  that  if  he  had  not  compelled  her 
mother  to  work  so  hard,  and  had  been  kinder  to 
her  generally,  she  might  still  be  alive.  Sometimes, 
in  her  secret  heart,  she  had  held  her  father  the 
murderer  of  her  mother. 

So  now,  as  she  sat  in  a  front  pew,  where  she 
could  see  his  dead  face  through  the  glass  of  the 
casket,  while  the  minister  spoke  of  his  virtues,  and 
especially  of  his  usefulness  to  St.  Jude's  Church, 
as  its  organist  for  so  many  years,  she  listened 
calmly  enough,  only  wondering,  in  a  curious  way, 
whether  he  really  had  merited  all  this  eulogy. 

At  the  end  of  the  service  the  people  fell  into 
line  and  passed  around  the  casket  for  a  "last  look," 
and  then  some  of  them  walked  behind  the  hearse 
to  the  cemetery  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  where, 
in  due  course,  that  which  they  had  followed  was 
lowered  into  its  grave,  covered  with  earth,  and  left 
to  itself  under  the  willows. 

"Come,  Adelina." 

It  was  Carrie  Raymond  speaking,  and  she  took 
the  girl's  arm  and  led  her  away  from  the  freshly- 
turned  mound  to  the  carriage. 

"What  shall  I  do  now?"  murmured  Adelina,  as 
she  took  her  seat  by  the  side  of  Carrie  Raymond, 
John  and  his  father  sitting  opposite. 

The  young  doctor  overheard  the  words,  and  he 


I4o  THE  CLIMAX 

noted  that  they  were  uttered,  not  as  a  helpless  ex 
pression  of  bereavement,  but  in  a  tone  half  of  per 
plexity  and  half  of  decision.  What  should  she  do? 
If  she  did  not  know  what  she  would  do,  John  Ray 
mond  could  have  told  her. 

Adelina  went  straight  back  to  her  own 
home  after  the  funeral.  She  had  arranged,  by 
Raymond's  advice,  for  Harriet  Wylie  to  sleep 
in  the  house,  so  that  she  would  not  be  alone.  Har 
riet  also  was  to  assist  in  those  domestic  duties 
which  cannot  be  neglected  for  long  in  any  house 
hold,  so  long  as  people  have  to  live.  Harriet  was 
a  good  girl,  and  Adelina  found  that  she  had  plenty 
of  time  to  look  about  her  and  settle  up  what  estate 
her  father  had  left.  It  was  very  little.  He  had 
owned  the  house  they  lived  in,  and  there  was  a 
small  sum  of  money  in  the  Azalia  bank  which 
would  not  much  more  than  pay  the  funeral  ex 
penses.  At  her  request,  John  Raymond  said  he 
would  put  the  house  on  the  market. 

"I  could  not  live  in  it,  even  if  I  intended  to 
stay  in  Azalia,"  she  explained.  "Sell  it  for  as  much 
as  you  can  get,  John,  won't  you?" 

"Very  well,  Adelina." 

He  did  not  evince  any  astonishment  that  she 
intended  to  leave  Azalia,  nor  did  he  say  a  word  to 
dissuade  her.  She  was  a  little  disappointed  that 


THE  CLIMAX  141 

he  didn't.  It  looked  as  if  he  didn't  care.  While 
she  would  have  disregarded  any  arguments  he 
might  have  advanced  to  induce  her  to  change  her 
mind,  she  wished  he  had  asked  her  not  to  go  away. 
He  hated  the  idea  of  her  deserting  Azalia,  she 
knew.  Many  times  he  had  told  her  he  hoped  she 
would  always  live  there.  He  had  even,  since  her 
father's  death,  and  for  the  third  time,  asked  her  to 
become  his  wife,  and  she  had  declined.  She  was 
not  ready  to  be  married  yet,  she  had  said. 

John  Raymond,  on  his  side,  was  not  sure  that 
he  would  be  the  lucky  man  even  if  she  ever  did 
consent  to  go  to  the  altar.  He  knew  he  loved  her, 
but  how  could  he  tell  what  w^ere  her  real  senti 
ments  toward  him?  It  was  his  opinion  that  she 
did  not  know  them  herself. 

There  was  no  demand  for  house  property  in 
Azalia  just  then,  and  the  Von  Hagen  dwelling  was 
not  sold,  although  Raymond  worked  hard  to  find 
a  purchaser.  Meanwhile,  Adelina  was  in  communi 
cation  with  friends  in  New  York.  She  had  sent 
a  copy  of  the  Azalia  Clarion,  containing  a  notice 
of  her  father's  demise,  to  Luigi  Golfanti,  and 
straightway  had  received  a  letter  of  sorrow  and 
condolence,  with  an  earnest  hope  that  she  would 
let  him  give  her  any  assistance  that  might  lie  in' 
his  power.  The  letter  warmed  her  heart.  It  was 


142  THE  CLIMAX 

as  if  she  could  hear  Luigi's  kindly  voice  in  the 
queer,  cramped,  foreign  handwriting,  and  feel  his 
finger-tips  pressing  the  outside  of  her  elbows,  as 
he  looked  his  sympathy  into  her  eyes.  He  said, 
in  his  letter,  that  Pietro  sent  his  most  respectful 
consideration,  and  hoped  to  have  the  happiness  of 
seeing  her  again  before  long. 

Adelina  smiled  when  she  came  to  this  part  of 
the  epistle.  She  could  imagine  Pietro  pouring  forth 
burning  sentences  for  his  father  to  write,  and  Luigi 
cutting  them  down  to  the  comparatively  bald  mes 
sage  she  was  reading.  Her  smile  soon  died  out, 
however,  as  she  began  to  meditate,  holding  the 
folded  letter  between  two  fingers  and  thoughtfully 
tapping  the  edge  of  it  on  the  table.  She  sat  thus 
for  nearly  half  an  hour,  but,  when  at  last  she  was 
disturbed  by  Harriet  coming  to  ask  her  some  ques 
tion  of  domestic  economy,  she  had  arrived  at  a  de 
cision.  After  telling  Harriet  what  she  wanted  to 
know,  Adelina  got  out  her  desk  and  wrote  an  im 
portant  letter  to  Luigi  Golfanti. 

It  was  three  days  before  an  answer  came. 
When  she  read  it  her  face  brightened,  and  a  slight 
tinge  of  pink  stole  into  her  pale  cheeks.  She  went 
through  the  letter  again,  sitting  in  her  bedroom, 
near  the  open  window.  Then  she  turned  over  sev 
eral  of  the  old  opera  scores,  and,  while  she  dropped 


THE  CLIMAX  143 

a  tear  or  two  upon  them,  gave  utterance  to  a  low 
laugh  of  pleasure,  which  had  in  it,  somehow,  a  note 
of  timidity.  Just  then  she  saw  John  Raymond  com 
ing  up  the  garden-path.  She  .went  down  stairs 
swiftly  and  met  him  in  the  music-room. 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  be  some  time  before  we  can 
sell  this  house,  Addie,"  he  said.  "I've  been  to 
'Squire  Morgan  again  to-day.  He  says  he'll  dis 
pose  of  the  property,  some  time  or  other,  but  he 
doesn't  say  when.  If  you  wanted  to  rent  it,  that 
would  be  different.  He  could  get  you  a  tenant  at 
once." 

Adelina  clapped  her  hands  in  satisfaction,  while 
Raymond's  brown  cheek  paled  a  little  and  his 
mouth  tightened.  He  suspected  the  reason  for  her 
being  pleased,  perhaps. 

"I  want  a  tenant,  John.  I  am  going  to  leave 
Azalia  as  soon  as  I  can  get  ready." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  New  York." 

She  tried  to  say  it  carelessly,  but  it  was  not 
likely  that  such  a  tremendous  resolve  could  fall 
from  her  lips  without  a  tremor. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said.  "You  have  no 
relatives  there." 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.     I  did  not  know." 


144  THE  CLIMAX 

He  was  as  stiff  as  a  poker,  and  Adelina  found 
it  difficult  to  be  at  her  ease.  She  tried,  however. 

"Yes,  I  have  cousins  there,"  she  went  on,  turn 
ing  to  the  piano  and  looking  at  the  sheet  of  music, 
"Azalia — A  Fragment,"  which  lay  open  upon  it. 

"Ladies?" 

"No." 

"H'm !" 

"It  is  my  cousin,  Luigi  Golfanti,  and  his  son, 
Pietro.  Signer  Golfanti  told  me,  when  he  was  here 
on  that  Saturday  and  Sunday,  that  my  voice  was 
good,  but  that  it  needed  a  little  more  training  to 
make  it  perfect." 

"And  that  he  was  the  one  person  who  could 
give  it  that  training,  I  presume,"  interrupted  John 
Raymond,  bitterly. 

She  opened  her  eyes  wide,  as  she  turned 
around  from  the  piano  and  faced  him. 

"Why,  how  did  you  know?"  she  asked.  "I 
don't  believe  I  ever  mentioned  it  to  you  until  now." 

"You  didn't,"  was  the  dry  rejoinder.  "But  it 
did  not  demand  extraordinary  perspicacity  to  en 
able  me  to  divine  that  a  teacher  of  singing  talking 
about  your  voice  would  naturally  desire  you  for 
a  pupil.  I  do  not  quite  understand  how  you  mean 
to  live  in  New  York,  however." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you.     Signor  Golfairti  will  meet 


THE  CLIMAX  145 

me  at  the  railroad  station  on  my  arrival  in  New 
York  and  take  me  to  a  respectable  boarding-house, 
where  he  will  have  engaged  a  room  for  me  in  ad 
vance.  I  shall  have  enough  money  to  last  me  for 
six  months,  even  without  the  rent  of  this  house, 
if  I  am  careful.  In  that  time  I  will  take  vocal  les 
sons  of  him,  and  at  the  end  of  it  I  shall  be  so  much 
improved  that  I  may  be  able  to  :ing  in  concerts." 

"You  don't  mean  in  opera,  then?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  thoughtfully.  "I 
contemplate  only  concerts  at  present,  and  shall  not 
aspire  even  to  them  for  half  a  year,  at  least." 

"The  music  committee,  represented  by  'Squire 
Morgan,  have  asked  me  to  find  out  whether  you 
will  play  the  organ  in  church  next  Sunday,  for  con 
gregational  singing.  They  have  had  no  music  for 
two  Sundays  now,  The  quartette  is  disorganized, 
and  everything  has  gone  wrong." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,"  and  she  said  it  as  if  she 
meant  it.  "I  will  rehearse  the  organ  music  on  Fri 
day  and  play  it  on  Sunday  with  pleasure.  But  I 
can  only  do  it  this  once,  I  am  afraid." 

"Why?" 

"I  expect  to  be  gone  before  the  next  Sunday," 
she  replied. 

John  Raymond's  face  became  white  all  over. 

"So   soon   as  that?"   he  faltered.     "I  did   not 


146  THE  CLIMAX 

think  you  would  be  going  for  a  month  or  two — if 
you  went  at  all." 

"Why  not?  There  is  nothing  to  wait  for.  If 
'Squire  Morgan  can  get  a  good  tenant  for  the 
house,  I  suppose  it  ought  to  be  rented.  If  not,  it 
must  remain  empty.  I  almost  think  I  should  pre 
fer  to  leave  it  just  as  it  is,  with  all  the  furniture 
in  it,  until  it  is  soli.  We  may  be  able  to  sell  it  at 
any  time,  you  know." 

Raymond  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it 
all.  He  tried  to  gather  his  thoughts  into  a  compre 
hension  of  what  it  would  mean  to  him  if  Azalia  no 
longer  held  Adelina — if  he  should  continue  to  live 
there  with  no  chance  of  seeing  her  over  the  divid 
ing  fence  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  be 
tween  his  house  and  the  front  gate,  of  hearing  her 
voice  in  St.  Jude's  choir,  or  of  doing  any  of  the  lit 
tle  offices  for  her  that  had  kept  him  busy  at  in 
tervals,  especially  since  her  father's  death.  His 
brain,  in  its  present  confused  state,  was  not  equal 
to  working  it  all  out,  and  he  gave  up  trying  for 
the  time  being.  So  he  told  her  he  would  inform 
the  music  committee,  through  'Squire  Morgan, 
that  she  would  play  the  organ  on  Sunday  next,  and 
then  he  departed,  more  abruptly  than  she  remem 
bered  him  ever  to  have  left  her  before. 

True  to  her  word,  Adelina  went  to  the  church 


THE  CLIMAX  147 

on  Friday  evening — Solomon  Potter  having  cor 
ralled  a  marble-playing  boy  in  front  of  the  hotel 
and  dragged  him,  protesting,  to  the  penitential 
cupboard,  to  pump — and  played  over  on  the  organ 
all  the  hymns  that  were  to  be  sung  on  Sunday.  She 
had  played  the  organ  before,  but  not  for  service. 
The  instrument  was  not  a  hard  one,  so  far  as  the 
physical  labor  of  the  organist  was  concerned. 
There  were  no  pedals,  so  that  she  had  only  her 
fingers  to  watch,  and,  as  the  music  was  simple,  she 
ran  through  it  without  difficulty.  There  were 
three  hymns  for  the  morning  service  and  three  for 
evening,  and  that  was  all. 

Adelina  was  alone  in  the  church,  save  for  Solo 
mon  Potter  and  the  grumbling  boy  in  the  pumping 
closet,  until  she  began  the  last  hymn.  Then,  some 
what  to  her  annoyance,  Susan  Treadhouse  appeared 
in  the  choir  gallery,  from  the  side  door. 

"I  hear  that  you  are  leaving  us,  Adelina?"  she 
said,  screaming  into  the  girl's  ear,  to  make  herself 
heard  above  the  organ. 

Although  she  had  played  as  loudly  as  she  could, 
Adelina  could  not  pretend  that  she  had  not  heard 
the  query,  for  Susan  Treadhouse's  voice  had  been 
injected  into  her  ear  so  intimately  that  the  pious 
lady's  breath  tickled  her. 

"Yes.    I  am  going  to  New  York  next  week." 


I48  THE  CLIMAX 

"So  I  heard,  but  I  couldn't  believe  it,"  went  on 
Susan,  very  red  in  the  face  from  the  exertion  of 
making  Adelina  hear.  "Say,  Addie,  would  you 
mind  stopping  for  a  moment?  I  feel  as  if  some 
thing  were  cracking  in  my  cheekbones  when  I 
shout  so  hard." 

Adelina  finished  the  hymn  at  that  moment,  so 
she  was  able  to  comply  with  the  request  without 
interfering  with  the  music. 

"The  report  is  that  you  are  going  to  study 
vocalism  and  give  lessons.  Is  that  so?"  continued 
Susan. 

Mrs.  Treadhouse  had  seated  herself  on  one  end 
of  the  organ-bench,  pushing  Adelina  along,  and 
was  primed  for  a  series  of  questions.  She  wanted 
to  know  all  about  the  girl's  plans,  and  nothing  in 
the  nature  of  delicacy  would  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  finding  them  out.  Susan  believed  that  the  way 
to  get  information  was  to  ask  for  it,  eking  out 
whatever  she  learned,  when  it  was  not  complete,  by 
jumping  to  conclusions. 

"I  shall  give  lessons  in  music,  if  I  can  get  pu 
pils,  studying  at  the  same  time,"  was  Adelina's  reply. 

"But  why  don't  you  stay  here  and  marry  Doc 
tor  Raymond?  He'd  have  you,  I'm  sure.  Then 
you'd  live  quiet  and  respectable,  and  be  well 
thought  of.  Whereas,  if  you  go  to  New  York,  you 


THE  CLIMAX  149 

don't  know  what  will  become  of  you.  I've  heard 
dreadful  tales  about  girls  who  have  gone  there,  and 
you  know" — here  Susan  Treadhouse  dropped  her 
voice  confidentially — "you  are  more  likely  to  be 
led  into  temptation  than  some  others." 

"Why?" 

Adelina  put  this  monosyllabic  query  coldly, 
but  the  blood  was  surging  wildly  through  her  veins, 
and  she  knew  what  the  reply  would  be  before  Mrs. 
Treadhouse,  pursing  up  her  lips  and  raising  her 
eyebrows,  purred  insinuatingly: 

"Your  mother  was  an  actress,  you  know." 

Instantly  the  girl's  eyes  were  ablaze,  but  the 
smug  Susan  did  not  notice  them,  any  more  than 
she  realized  how  nearly  Adelina  was  to  breaking 
through  all  conventionalities,  and,  seizing  the  min 
ister's  wife  by  her  skinny  throat,  shaking  her  till 
her  false  teeth  fell  out.  It  was  a  narrow  escape  for 
Mrs.  Treadhouse,  but  the  girl  restrained  herself,  as 
she  asked,  in  the  same  cold  tone  that  she  had  used 
before : 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  my  being  led  into 
temptation  in  New  York?" 

Susan  wriggled  on  the  bench  and  held  up  one 
hand  deprecatingly.  She  was  about  to  say  some 
thing  which  might  have  resulted  in  her  being  half- 
throttled,  after  all,  but,  fortunately,  she  happened 


150  THE  CLIMAX 

to  glance  at  Adelina's  face.  What  she  saw  there 
warned  her,  and  she  saved  herself  by  saying,  in  a 
conciliatory  way: 

"Nothing,  Addie,  of  course.  What  I  came  in 
for,  when  I  heard  the  organ,  was  to  tell  you  how 
sorry  we  all  are  that  you  are  going.  I  hope  you 
will  like  living  in  a  large  city." 

"I  think  I  shall,"  replied  Adelina,  and  walked 
out  of  the  gallery  and  church,  leaving  Susan  Tread- 
howse  still  perched  uncomfortably  on  the  organ 
bench. 

The  days  passed  swiftly,  and  it  seemed  to  John 
Raymond  that  the  unhappy  morning  when  he 
waited  at  his  gate,  looking  up  the  garden  at  Ade 
lina  saying  good-bye  to  Carrie  and  his  father,  had 
come  before  he  had  had  time  fairly  to  consider  the 
astounding  fact  that  she  was  going  away  out  of  her 
old  life  forever. 

"You'll  write  to  us,  won't  you,  dear?"  appealed 
Carrie,  wiping  a  tear  from  her  nose — for  Miss 
Raymond,  if  she  was  a  little  frosty  in  general,  was 
fond  of  Adelina  in  her  wintry  way. 

"Of  course  I  will.  I  shall  tell  you  everything 
I  am  doing.  But  don't  forget  that  I  want  to  know 
when  a  certain  event  is  to  take  place.  Have  you 
named  the  day  yet?" 

Adelina    laughed    and    Carrie    blushed.     Miss 


THE  CLIMAX  151 

Raymond  was  engaged  to  a  rising  young  lawyer 
of  Chicago,  who  didn't  object  to  frost,  but  only  a 
very  few  persons  in  Azalia  were  aware  of  the  ten 
der  romance. 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Carrie.  "You  shall  know 
when  it  is." 

She  kissed  Adelina  again,  and  Mr.  Raymond, 
Senior,  shaking  her  hand  solemnly,  wished  her  hap 
piness,  success  and  deliverance  from  all  evil.  Then, 
as  John,  carrying  her  handbag,  looked  at  his  watch 
nervously,  she  cast  one  more  backward  glance  at 
the  garden  and  home  where  she  had  spent  many 
not  unhappy  hours,  and  walked  away  with  him  to 
the  "depot." 

An  hour  afterward,  while  Adelina  looked 
thoughtfully  out  of  the  window  of  a  musty  car  of 
the  local  train,  hastening  to  connect  with  the  main 
line  for  New  York,  John  Raymond  slipped  into  the 
garden  which  had  been  hers  and  plucked  a  purple 
pansy,  which  he  fastened  on  the  left  lapel  of  his 
coat,  over  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  X 

"My  song  I  will  not  sell  for  gold; 
Nor  fame  nor  honor'll  buy  it." 

Adelina,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  narrow  bed 
in  a  small  back  room  on  the  fourth  floor  of  a 
boarding-house  in  Thirty-eighth  street,  New  York, 
stared  disconsolately  at  the  wall  opposite,  and  si 
lently  wept. 

There  was  some  excuse  for  her  depression  even 
in  the  pattern  of  the  wall-paper,  aside  from  every 
thing  else.  It  was  one  of  those  weird  designs, 
peculiar  to  boarding-house  sleeping-chambers,  in 
which  garlands  of  impossible  green  roses  and  red 
sunflowers  crawl  lazily  in  and  out  of  never-ending 
spirals,  and  awful  half-human  faces,  contorted  in 
sardonic  mirth,  spring  suddenly  out  of  the  flowers 
and  seem  to  gibber  at  you. 

Mrs.  Bates,  the  landlady,  had  just  gone  out  of 
the  room.  She  was  a  leathery  woman,  who  had 
always  been  a  lady,  she  said,  accustomed  to  the 
best  of  everything.  But  her  husband  had  "lost  his 
fortune  in  Wall  street,"  and  she  had  been  left  a 

152 


THE  CLIMAX  153 

widow,  to  fight  the  world  alone.  Incidentally,  she 
gave  the  impression  of  being  a  fairly  good  rough- 
and-tumble  fighter,  who  would  hold  out  for  her 
rights  to  the  tap  of  the  bell.  She  had  told  Adelina 
that  the  gentleman  who  had  engaged  the  room  for 
her,  Signer  Golfanti,  with  his  son,  used  to  board 
with  her,  and  she  knew  them  well.  Otherwise,  she 
would  have  wanted  references  from  Miss  Von 
Hagen. 

"You  has  to  be  particular  in  New  York,  my 
dear,  especially  with  ladies  as  you  don't  know. 
Signer  Golfanti  is  a  highly-respectable  gentleman, 
and  he  told  me  all  about  you — that  your  father  was 
dead,  and  you  had  come  to  New  York  to  study 
voice  culture.  I  told  him  that,  under  the  circum 
stances,  I  should  be  willing  to  accommodate  you, 
though  my  house  is  always  full,  and  I  only  had 
this  one  hall  room." 

"This  will  do  very  nicely,  Mrs.  " 

"Bates,"  supplied  the  landlady,  quickly.  "My 
husband's  name  was  Clayton  Bates,  and  I  some 
times  get  called  Mrs.  Clayton  by  them  as  knowed 
him  before  he  died.  But  'Airs.  Bates'  is  what  I 
ought  to  be  called  when  I'm  addressed  correckly.  I 
always  get  my  rent  in  advance,  but  Signer  Golfanti 
paid  me  for  the  first  week.  He  said  you'd  pay  him 
afterward." 


154  THE  CLIMAX 

"It  was  very  kind  of  him,  indeed,"  said  Ade- 
lina,  who  had  already  opened  her  purse.  "I  didn't 
know  he'd  done  that." 

"Yes,  he  said  you  wasn't  used  to  New  York 
business  ways,  and  might  not  think  of  it,  and  he 
didn't  want  me  to  have  to  ask  for  it,  because,  hav 
ing  just  buried  your  father,  your  feelings  was  eas 
ily  hurt.  However,  as  I  was  saying,  the  rent  is  six 
dollars  a  week,  and  a  dollar  a  week  for  the  use  of 
the  py-anner  in  the  parlor.  My  py-anner  is  a  Brin- 
dleheimer — one  of  the  best  makers,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Bates  might  .have  talked  for  an  hour  and 
driven  Adelina  to  distraction,  but  she  was  called 
down  stairs  as  soon  as  she  had  contrived  to  men 
tion  the  terms  of  rental,  and  the  girl  was  left  to 
contemplate  the  wall-paper  and  wonder  whether 
she  ever  would  get  used  to  sleeping  in  this  bare  lit 
tle  room,  which,  besides  the  bed,  had  just  space 
enough  for  her  trunk  and  a  rickety  table,  on  which 
stood  a  hideous  white  pitcher  and  wash-bowl. 

Adelina  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  her  heart 
sank  lower.  The  denizens  of  Thirty-eighth  street. 
as  well  as  of  Thirty-ninth  street,  the  backs  of  whose 
houses  faced  her,  seemed  to  do  their  washing  all 
the  week,  for  many  of  the  pulley-lines  that  criss 
crossed  at  varying  heights  over  the  arid  yards  and 
ancient  wooden  fences  were  full  of  flapping  under- 


THE  CLIMAX  155 

garments,  with  sheets  and  towels  here  and  there, 
and  whole  regiments  of  restless  black  stockings. 
Squads  of  beer-bottles,  standing  up  in  boxes,  with 
tin  boilers,  iron  kettles  and  an  occasional  geranium 
in  a  flower-pot,  encumbered  the  rusty  fire-escapes; 
bedclothes  bulged  out  of  many  windows,  and  there 
was  a  general  air  of  desolation  and  shiftlessness 
which  was  all  horribly  strange  to  this  country  girl. 
She  had  been  quietly  weeping,  almost  without 
knowing  it.  Thoughts  that  came  to  her  mind  now 
sent  the  tears  in  still  greater  volume  down  her 
cheeks. 

She  was  contrasting  this  wilderness  of  brick- 
and-mortar,  with  its  slimy  gutters,  close  atmos 
phere  and  uncouth  noises  (for  a  man  and  woman 
were  quarreling  profanely,  and,  in  a  high  key  some 
where  within  her  hearing,  a  parrot  squawked  at  an 
open  casement,  and  boys  played  boisterously  with 
a  yelping  terrier  in  the  yard  below),  with  the  peace 
ful  beauty  of  her  garden  in  Azalia,  whence  the  scent 
of  flowers  was  wafted  into  her  window,  and  the 
only  sounds  to  be  heard  were  pleasant. 

But  she  did  not  sit  long  gazing,  with  tear-wet 
cheeks,  out  of  window  or  at  the  dreadful  wall 
paper.  It  was  a  bright  morning  outside,  after  all, 
and  she  was  in  New  York,  where  she  had  wanted 
to  be.  So  her  spirits  soon  rose,  as  she  opened  her 


156  THE  CLIMAX 

trunk  for  a  change  of  raiment,  even  though  she 
•was  rather  tired,  for  she  had  been  travelling  all 
night. 

It  had  been  her  first  experience  in  a  sleeping- 
car,  and  she  had  had  only  fitful  dozes,  waking  up 
often,  with  a  convulsive  clutch  at  nothing,  as  the 
train  swung  around  a  curve  and  rolled  her  about 
in  her  berth.  She  had  been  glad  when  the  coming 
of  daylight  gave  her  an  excuse  to  get  up  and  make 
a  dive  for  the  dressing-room,  innocently  unaware 
of  the  wrathful  disappointment  of  the  elderly 
woman  across  the  aisle,  an  experienced  old  trav 
eller,  who  had  intended  to  get  there  first  and  ap 
propriate  all  the  space  in  front  of  the  most  conveni 
ent  mirror. 

"I  must  write  to  Carrie,"  she  told  herself, 
when  she  had  finished  dressing.  "I  promised  to  let 
her  know  that  I  had  arrived  safely.  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  send  a  letter  to  John,  too.  But — Well,  I 
can  mention  him  to  Carrie.  Let  him  write  first.  I 
have  nothing  to  tell  him  about  New  York  yet,  when 
I  haven't  even  been  out  of  this  room  since  I  came 
into  it.  But  a  whole  lot  can  have  happened  in 
Azalia  since  I  left." 

She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  away  a  long  time, 
and  yet  it  was  less  than  twenty-four  hours  before 
that  she  had  been  talking  to  John  Raymond  in  the 


THE  CLIMAX  157 

music-room  of  her  old  home,  telling  him  that  the 
piano  and  furniture  might  as  well  remain  there  un 
til  they  found  a  customer  for  the  house.  She  could 
not  bring  herself  to  sell  anything,  and  this  plan 
would  save  the  expense  of  moving  and  storage. 
Perhaps  some  day  she  might  want  to  take  all  the 
things  to  New  York.  She  had  decided  not  to  rent 
the  house,  even  if  a  tenant  could  be  obtained — 
which  seemed  harder  to  do  than  'Squire  Morgan 
had  anticipated. 

John  Raymond  had  promised  to  look  after  the 
house,  and  to  have  a  fire  in  the  base-burner  in  the 
hall  on  damp  days  and  when  very  cold  weather 
came,  so  that  the  piano  should  not  suffer.  She  had 
been  grateful  to  him  for  this,  and  still  more  that 
he  did  not  bring  up  the  subject  she  most  dreaded 
between  them — her  stage  ambitions.  She  had 
brought  all  her  music  with  her,  including  her 
mother's  old  opera  scores  and  Pietro's  "Fragment." 
She  took  them  out  of  her  trunk  now  and  piled 
them  up  on  the  floor.  There  was  nowhere  else  to 
put  them  in  that  cubby-hole  of  a  bedroom.  Then 
she  sat  on  the  bed  again,  her  writing-case  on  her 
knee,  and  wrote  her  letter  to  Carrie. 

"Tell  John,"  she  wrote  at  the  end,  "that  I  have 
a  piano  wrhere  I  am  living,  and  that  I  expect  to  be 
very  comfortable." 


158  THE  CLIMAX 

"That  isn't  much  to  say  to  him,"  she  mur 
mured,  as  she  sealed  up  the  letter.  "But  he'll 
know." 

John  Raymond  did  know,  and  the  knowledge 
made  him  thoughtful  all  the  day  on  which  the  let 
ter  arrived  and  for  many  days  afterward.  She  had 
begun  her  "career,"  and  whether  he  were  to  be 
part  of  it  or  not  would,  he  feared,  depend  on  fac 
tors  far  beyond  his  control.  As  he  thought,  a  pur 
pose  long  in  his  mind  slowly  became  a  resolve. 

"If  I  were  there,  not  here,  I  could  watch  over 
her,"  were  the  words  into  which  he  put  that  re 
solve. 

Adelina  had  money  enough  to  live  on  frugally 
for  several  months.  She  knew  that  she  must  be 
very  economical,  but  she  began  to  feel  hungry,  and 
she  had  no  idea  of  starving  herself.  She  must  find 
some  modest  restaurant  and  have  dinner.  She  had 
promised  to  go  in  the  afternoon  to  the  home  of 
Luigi  Golfanti  and  his  son,  which  Luigi  had  told 
her  was  not  very  far  from  Union  Square,  stay  for 
supper,  and  have  some  music  in  the  evening.  She 
would  take  her  first  vocal  lesson  from  Luigi  the 
next  day.  It  had  been  arranged,  before  she  left 
Azalia,  that  she  was  to  be  his  pupil,  studying  the 
method  that  had  made  her  mother  an  operatic  star. 

It  was  with  a  sort  of  terrified  delight  that  she 


THE  CLIMAX  159 

found  herself  alone,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  streets 
of  a  great  city.  Luigi  Golfanti  had  been  with  her 
when  she  was  out  before.  He  had  met  her  at  the 
railroad  station  and  taken  her  in  a  cab,  trunk  and 
all,  to  Mrs.  Bates's  boarding-house.  She  had  looked 
out  of  the  cab  window  and  enjoyed  the  novelty  of 
her  situation,  but  Luigi  had  talked  continuously, 
and  she  had  not  been  able  to  give  undivided  atten 
tion  to  her  rapidly-changing  surroundings.  Now 
that  she  was  by  herself,  however,  she  could  take 
her  time,  and  stop  now  and  then,  when  any  particu 
lar  thing  attracted  her. 

Once  in  Broadway,  she  walked  slowly  down 
the  world-famous  thoroughfare,  passing  a  theatre 
or  two  on  the  way,  and  after  paying  her  devoirs 
to  each  of  the  brilliant  show-windows  of  a  great 
department  store,  and  permitting  herself  to  be 
dazzled  by  the  glittering  gems  and  curiously-fash 
ioned  gold  and  silver  ornaments  displayed  by  a 
jeweler  next  door,  she  saw  around  the  corner  a 
restaurant  with  great  plate-glass  windows,  behind 
which  a  man  in  a  white  linen  cap  and  apron  was 
making  griddle-cakes  with  graceful  nonchalance. 
Here  she  had  luncheon — or  dinner,  as  they  would 
call  it  in  Azalia — in  the  midst  of  a  babble  of  voices 
and  crashing  of  thick  crockery  that  amused  her, 
even  if  it  did  threaten  her  with  a  headache. 


160  THE  CLIMAX 

After  her  meal,  she  again  discovered  Broad 
way,  and  entered  an  open  street-car  traveling  to 
her  right,  in  accordance  with  Luigi's  careful  in 
structions.  She  asked  the  conductor  to  tell  her 
when  she  should  reach  Seventeenth  street.  As  she 
rode  along  she  wondered  why  she  did  not  feel  more 
lonely.  She  was  six  hundred  odd  miles  from  Aza- 
lia,  and  in  a  strange  city  by  herself.  In  the  nature 
of  things  she  ought  to  have  been  nearly  frightened 
to  death.  Why  wasn't  she?  Then  she  adjusted  the 
incongruity  by  remembering  that  Luigi  Golfanti, 
who  had  known  her  mother  so  well,  had  been  with 
her  that  morning,  and  that  she  was  going  to  see 
him  now.  Why,  New  York  would  soon  be  more 
like  home  to  her  than  Azalia  had  been,  especially 
after  her  father's  death.  She  was  glad  she  was 
going  to  see  Luigi.  But  she  did  not  think  of  Pietro. 

The  conductor  pulled  the  bell  and  roared 
"S'enteent'  street !  H'yare,  lady !"  Then  he  worked 
himself  along  the  foot-board,  hand  over  hand,  and, 
with  one  hand  on  the  bell-rope,  saw  that  she 
alighted  safely.  By  the  time  she  had  reached  the 
sidewalk  the  car  was  speeding  away,  and  he  had 
resumed  a  snarling  argument  with  two  peddlers 
who  had  slipped  upon  the  back  platform,  each  with 
a  large  basket,  when  the  conductor  was  not  look 
ing,  and  which  controversy  had  begun  with  his 


THE  CLIMAX  161 

savage  sarcasm,  "Hey!  D'youse  guys  take  this  fer 
a  freight-car  or  'xpress-wagon  ?" 

Plow  the  dispute  ended  Adelina  did  not  hear 
or  see,  and  she  was  sorry,  because  she  had  heard 
the  opening  verbal  gun,  and  felt  that  it  promised 
an  exciting  denouement.  However,  she  supposed  the 
squabble  was  an  ordinary  feature  of  metropolitan 
life,  and  no  doubt  she  would  come  across  another 
incident  of  the  same  kind  before  long. 

Luigi  Golfanti  had  given  her  explicit  direc 
tions  for  rinding  his  home,  but  it  was  nearly  half  an 
hour  after  alighting  from  the  car  that  she  found 
herself  in  a  mean  sort  of  street,  which  seemed  to 
have  run  to  seed,  standing  on  the  doorstep  of  an 
old-fashioned  brick  house,  with  a  delicatessen  store 
in  the  basement.  She  pushed  an  electric  button  on 
the  door-post,  above  a  square  of  black  japanned 
tin,  on  which  was  the  announcement: 


GOLFANTI 
(Operatic  Method) 

And  Piano. 
Teacher  of  Singing 


Her  finger  had  hardly  left  the  button  when  she 
heard  a  tremendous  clumping  on  the  uncarpeted 
stairs,  and  then,  as  the  door  was  flung  open,  Luigi 
Golfanti  took  her  by  the  two  elbows.  She  was 


162  THE  CLIMAX, 

afraid  he  was  going  to  kiss  her  on  the  cheek.  But 
he  didn't.  Five  little  girls,  going  home  from 
school,  had  stopped  to  inspect  Adelina,  whom  they 
knew  to  be  a  stranger  in  that  neighborhood,  and 
certainly  they  would  have  told  their  mothers,  who 
in  turn  would  have  been  sure  to  spread  the  scanda 
lous  news,  had  the  "old  Eye-talian  singin'  teacher" 
kissed  her  in  public. 

"Come  in,  Adelina.  Come  up  to  the  studio. 
Pietro  has  a  pupil.  Si.  He  teach  the  piano.  I  do 
the  vocal.  It  is  the  more  important.  Eh?  You 
understand.  This  way.  The  stairs  are  little  dark. 
But  that  no  matter.  I  hold  your  hand.  Come.  I 
lead  you.  So!" 

Chattering  all  the  way  up  stairs — while  Pie- 
tro's  pupil  could  be  heard  somewhere  stumbling 
over  five-finger  exercises — Luigi  led  Adelina  to  the 
floor  above  and  into  a  large  room,  where  an  open 
grand  piano  suggested  the  professional  character  of 
the  occupants.  An  oil-stove  on  a  small  table,  behind 
a  portiere,  and  an  open  cupboard,  in  which  could 
be  seen  crockery  and  half  a  loaf  of  bread,  were  a 
reminder  that  Luigi  and  Pietro  kept  bachelors'  hall 
together.  There  were  crumbs  on  the  once  white 
cloth  which  covered  another,  and  larger,  table,  near 
the  old-fashioned  open  fireplace,  and  Adelina  felt 
that  touch  of  pity  which  is  engendered  in  any. 


THE  CLIMAX  163 

womanly  bosom  by  the  slovenly  housekeeping  of 
a  strictly  masculine  manage. 

She  wouldn't  have  let  him  see  it  for  the  world. 

"Oh,  Signor  Golfanti !  Isn't  this  lovely?"  ex 
claimed  the  girl,  as  she  seated  herself  on  the  piano- 
stool,  with  her  face  to  the  room,  and  looked 
around. 

"You  like  it?"  asked  Luigi,  dubiously. 

"Very  much.  It  is  so  cozy,  so  original,  so  dif 
ferent  from  other  homes !" 

"H'm!  Yes.  It  is  different.  I  say  to  Pietro 
we  have  a  way  of  our  own  that  is  not  like  anyone 
else.  But  he  not  always  get  the  meals  we  like. 
The  delicatessen  it  never  have  macaroni — only  pigs' 
knuckles,  sauer-kraut,  pickles  and  beans.  We  have 
beans  for  dinner  five  times  last  week.  Then  I  make 
Pietro  buy  a  steak,  and  he  cook  it." 

"Was  it  nice?" 

Luigi  looked  at  a  door  with  the  word  "Studio" 
painted  on  it,  and  on  the  other  side  of  which  Pietro 
was  engaged  with  his  pupil.  Then  he  answered, 
softly : 

"Pietro  good  boy,  but  he  not  know  how  to 
grill  a  steak.  That  steak  he  black  when  cooked, 
and  he  taste  like  lump  of  coal.  I  not  say  anything. 
It  would  make  Pietro  feel  bad.  But  the  next  day 
we  go  back  to  the  beans." 


164  THE  CLIMAX 

"You  have  to  depend  on  the  delicatessen  gen 
erally,  then?  That  is  too  bad,  Signor  Golfanti." 

He  shook  his  head  at  her  with  a  smile  of  re 
buke. 

"Not  so  bad  as  you  call  me  'Signer  Golfanti,'  " 
he  said.  "I  wish  you  call  me  'Luigi.'  " 

Adelina  raised  a  protesting  hand,  and  Luigi 
went  on : 

"I  see.  You  think  it  would  not  do,  because  I 
older  as  you.  I  older  than  your  mother.  I  have  it. 
We  are  cousins,  but  you  not  call  me  'cousin.'  Say 
'Uncle— Uncle  Luigi.'  Eh?" 

He  was  so  much  in  earnest  that  Adelina  knew 
it  must  be  so.  She  got  up  from  the  piano-stool  and 
took  his  hand:  "Very  well,  Uncle  Luigi.  I  will, 
always." 

He  laughed  aloud  in  his  light-hearted  way,  and 
just  then  Pietro  entered  from  the  studio.  The  five- 
finger  exercises  had  ceased  several  moments  be 
fore,  indicating  that  the  lesson  was  over.  He  came 
forward  quickly  to  greet  her,  a  slight  bashfulness 
in  his  manner,  but  pleasure  sparkling  in  his  dark 
eyes.  She  let  go  of  Luigi's  hand  and  took  Pietro's 
with  a  cordiality  which  made  the  young  man  tin 
gle  nil  over. 

"Pietro,  I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you,  and  to  be 
able  to  thank  you  by  word  of  mouth  for  that  piece 


THE  CLIMAX  165 

of  music,  'Azalia — A  Fragment.'  It  is  beautiful. 
I  hope  it  is  more  than  a  fragment  now." 

Pietro  blushed,  but  could  not  find  words  to 
reply  before  his  father  broke  in : 

"He  not  finish  it  yet.  That  Pietro  he  seem  not 
to  know  how  to  get  his  music  into  the  notes.  He 
have  it  in  his  head,  all  buzzing  and  flying  about" — 
Luigi  waved  his  hands  about,  the  fingers  outspread 
—"like  the  butterflies.  But  when  he  come  to  write 
it,  whoof!  they  fly  away,  and  he  have  nothing  to 
put  on  paper." 

"But  I'll  get  it,  father!"  declared  the  young 
man,  eagerly.  "I'll  get  it,  Adelina.  It  is  here." 

He  touched  his  forehead  and  then  his  heart, 
with  a  quick  and  graceful  gesture  only  possible  to 
an  Italian. 

"Yes,  it  is  there.  That  what  I  say,  Pietro," 
laughed  Luigi.  "But  while  it  stay  there,  what  good 
is  it  to  anybody  else?" 

"I'll  find  it,  now  that  you  have  come,  Adelina," 
said  Pietro  to  her,  in  a  low  tone.  "It  will  be  yours, 
too,  and  I  shall  call  it  'The  Song  of  a  Soul.' " 


CHAPTER  XI 

"I  watch  thy  grace;  and  in  its  place 
My  heart  a  charmed  slumber  keeps, 
While  I  muse  upon  thy  face." 

Pietro  Golfanti  might  have  stood  statue-like 
and  gazing  into  Adelina's  eyes  for  an  hour  if  his 
father  had  not  intervened.  In  his  brisk  way,  Luigi 
called  his  son  to  account  for  not  clearing  the  cloth 
off  the  table  and  making  the  apartment  presentable, 
while  he  himself  pulled  the  portiere  forward,  to 
hide  as  much  as  possible  of  the  chaos  of  oil-stove, 
crockery  and  loaf  heretofore  so  shamelessly  re 
vealed. 

"This  is  the  first  time  Adelina  come,  and  you 
let  her  see  us  in  this  miserable  condition.  I 
ashamed  of  you,  Pietro." 

"Nonsense,  Uncle  Luigi,"  interposed  Adelina. 
"The  place  is  charming.  Everything  is  so  'cute.'  " 

"Si.  The  rumpled  tablecloth,  the  spilled  salt, 
the  dirty  dishes — they  all  'cute.'  But  it  would  be 
more  'cute'  if  Pietro  get  to  work  and  help  me." 

"I  will,  father.  I  didn't  think  for  the  moment," 
protested  Pietro. 

166 


THE  CLIMAX  167 

"No,  you  not  think  about  anything.  What  you 
fussing  with  young  Anton  Rubinstein  about?  He 
your  pupil,  and  he  pay  fifty  cents  a  lesson.  You 
ought  not  to  fight  with  your  bread  and  butter.  I 
right,  eh,  Adelina?" 

"Well,  Uncle  Luigi " 

"That  right  anyhow,"  interrupted  Luigi,  with 
his  sunny  smile.  "You  call  me  'Uncle  Luigi.' 
Buono!  I  like  that.  You  quite  right." 

"It  comes  very  easy  for  me  to  say  it,"  she  an 
swered.  "No  uncle  could  be  kinder  than  you." 

"Mind  you  never  call  me  anything  else,"  he 
admonished  her.  Then,  turning  to  Pietro,  he  re 
peated  his  query  as  to  the  cause  of  the  dispute  in 
the  studio. 

"The  cause  of  it  is  that  that  idiot  boy,  Anton 
Rubinstein,  will  never  play  the  piano,"  growled 
Pietro. 

"It  is  for  you  to  teach  him,  Pietro,"  Luigi  re 
minded  his  son. 

"How  can  I  teach  a  boy  like  that — a  thick  pud- 
denhead,  with  a  bunch  of  wooden  thumbs?  Anton 
Rubinstein!  How,  in  heaven's  name,  did  such  a 
dumb  head  and  such  awkward  hands  ever  get  a 
name  like  that?" 

"Is  he  so  bad?"  asked  Adelina,  sympathetically. 


168  THE  CLIMAX 

"Bad?"  echoed  Pietro,  clenching  his  fists  as  he 
strode  up  and  down. 

"Pietro!"  called  out  Luigi,  warning  his  son 
against  a  display  of  ill-temper. 

"I  don't  care,"  came  with  a  snap  from  Pietro. 
Then,  stopping  in  his  angry  pacing,  he  swung 
around  to  Adelina,  and  said,  with  forced  calmness: 
"Let  me  give  you  an  example  of  that  boy's  stupid 
ity.  For  weeks  I  have  been  laboring  to  knock  into 
his  timber  head  the  names  and  positions  of  the 
notes  on  the  piano." 

"You  have  no  patience,  Pietro,"  interjected  his 
father. 

"This  afternoon,"  continued  Pietro,  disregard 
ing  the  remark,  "after  he  had  driven  me  nearly 
frantic  with  his  imbecility,  I  believed  I  really  had 
got  something  into  him.  So  I  pointed  to  middle 
'C'  on  the  instrument,  like  this."  Pietro  placed  a 
finger  on  the  "C"  on  the  grand  piano,  and  Adelina 
turned  on  the  stool  for  an  instant  to  look.  "I  said 
to  him,  'What  is  this?'  What  do  you  suppose  was 
nhe  answer  of  Anton  Rubinstein?" 

Pietro's  disgusted  emphasis  on  this  name  made 
Adelina  smile,  in  spite  of  her  compassion  for  the 
young  man  in  his  distress. 

"What  did  he  say?"  she  asked. 

"He  took  a  long  time  to  consider,  while  I  kept 


THE  CLIMAX  169 

my  finger  on  the  *C,'  and  at  last,  in  his  slow  way, 
he  bleated :  'It's  the  py-ano.'  " 

Pietro  resumed  his  march,  shaking  his  fists  at 
the  empty  air,  as  he  repeated,  in  an  agonized  voice, 
"The  py-ano!  The  py-ano!" 

Luigi  regarded  his  son  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
Then,  winking  slyly  at  Adelina,  he  said,  argumen- 
tatively:  "Well,  it  was  the  piano,  wasn't  it?  Did 
you  expect  him  to  say  it  was  a  yellow  clarinet?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  father,"  declared  Pie 
tro,  not  heeding  the  banter.  "That  boy  will  come 
here  one  day  too  often,  and  they'll  hang  me  for  it." 

"Pietro,"  said  his  father,  "how  often  I  remind 
you  that  the  dumb  pupils  pay  just  as  much  as  the 
clever  ones — sometimes  more,  if  you  lie  to  them 
enough.  Adelina,  everyone  in  this  profession 
knows  that  a  music  teacher  builds  up  his  reputa 
tion  through  his  clever  pupils,  but  he  makes  his 
living  from  the  others." 

Adelina  laughed  heartily  at  this  outspoken  ad 
mission,  saying:  "That  was  something  my  father 
never  could  understand.  I  remember  he  broke  a 
violin  on  the  head  of  one  of  his  pupils  who  either 
could  not.  or  would  not,  play  his  exercise  correctly. 
If  Anton  Rubinstein  isn't  careful,  perhaps  Pietro 
will  hit  him  over  the  head  with  the  piano." 

This  sally  made  Pietro  laugh,  notwithstanding 


,170  THE  CLIMAX 

his  anger,  and  soon  they  forgot  the  unlucky  Anton 
in  talking  about  Adelina's  plans  and  prospects. 

"When  shall  I  begin  my  lessons  with  you,  Un 
cle?"  she  asked. 

"Now,  if  you  are  not  too  tired,"  answered 
Luigi,  as  Adelina  turned  to  the  piano  and  rippled 
off  a  chromatic  scale  with  an  evenness  and  preci 
sion  that  made  Pietro  gaze  admiringly  at  the  white 
fingers  as  they  glided  up  and  down  the  keyboard. 

She  looked  laughingly  at  Luigi  and  asked  him 
if  that  sounded  as  if  she  were  tired.  He  shook  his 
head. 

"No,  carissima — not  your  fingers.  They  run 
about  the  piano  like  little  white  mice.  But  the 
voice,  he  tire  when  the  fingers  are  not." 

"I  don't  think  my  voice  is  tired,  Uncle  Luigi." 

"So?    Well,  we  try.     Sing  this  exercise." 

He  placed  before  her  an  open  instruction  book 
and  pointed  to  the  top  of  a  page. 

"That's  not  difficult,  Uncle  Luigi." 

"No,  it  is  not  difficult.  That's  why  I  give  it 
to  you,  for  the  first  lesson.  We  find  plenty  more 
in  the  book  which  will  be  harder,  by-and-bye.  So! 
Begin !" 

Pietro  stood  behind  her,  his  gaze  fixed  admir 
ingly  on  her  golden-brown  hair,  while  Luigi,  draw 
ing  a  chair  to  her  side,  took  out  a  pencil  and  pre- 


THE  CLIMAX  171 

pared  to  beat  time  with  it  on  the  end  of  the  key 
board.  He  was  the  instructor  now,  and  Adelina 
had  become  his  pupil  and  nothing  more. 

She  began  to  exercise,  a  series  of  rapid  trip 
lets  in  the  middle  register,  and  had  sung  three  or 
four  bars,  when  he  brought  down  his  pencil  with 
a  sharp  rap,  accompanied  by  a  peremptory  "Stop !" 

Adelina  obeyed  and  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 
He  was  shaking  his  head  violently  and  frowning. 

"No,  no.  That  will  not  do.  It  will  not  do.  I- 
tell  it  to  my  pupils  so  often,  get  the  wind  back  of 
the  tone  and  keep  it  there.  Do  not  let  the  wind 
come  out  all  around  the  sounds.  The  vowel  'Ah.' 
Listen." 

He  sounded  a  long  broad  "A." 

"So !"  he  ejaculated.     "Do  it  like  that." 

She  sang  the  "A,"  and  to  an  ordinary  listener 
it  would  have  seemed  identical  with  his  own,  allow 
ing  for  the  difference  in  their  voices.  But  it  did 
not  suit  the  exacting  instructor,  for  he  almost 
shouted,  while  he  struck  a  nervous  tattoo  with  the 
pencil: 

"No,  no !  Do  not  push  it  out.  Let  it  float.  Do 
not  punch  it  out.  Let  the  wind  do  it,  but  do  not 
let  the  tone  know  the  wind  he  does  do  it.  Now, 
the  vowel  'Ah.'  Now!" 

Again  Adelina  tried  to  please  him,  but  again 


j;2  THE  CLIMAX 

she  failed.  Only  that  she  knew  how  conscien 
tiously  he  was  working  with  her,  and  because  she 
was  determined  to  conquer  the  obstacle,  whatever 
it  was,  that  stood  in  the  way  of  her  attaining  his 
standard  of  perfection,  she  would  have  been  in 
clined  to  give  up  trying.  Never  had  she  been  un 
der  so  sternly  critical  a  teacher.  But — as  she  knew 
in  her  heart — never  had  she  found  one  so  anxious 
to  educate  her  into  a  great  singer. 

Luigi  was  not  thinking  of  anything  but  getting 
from  Adelina  the  exact  tone  he  wanted.  With  a 
perfectly  serious  face,  he  explained  his  meaning  in 
parable : 

"The  dog,  he  bark — he  punch  out  the  tone. 
The  sheep,  he  bleat — squeeze  the  tone  through  the 
nose.  The  bull,  he  bellow — blow  it  out  in  a  lump. 
The  bird — ah,  the  bird ! — he  just  let  it  come.  He 
sing  pianissimo,  piano,  crescendo,  forte,  fortissimo, 
all  the  same  as  he  fly.  Now,  try." 

He  had  imitated  comically  the  sounds  made  by 
the  dog,  the  sheep  and  the  bull,  although  quite  evi 
dently  nothing  was  further  from  his  intention  than 
making  a  jest  of  the  performance.  When  he  came 
to  the  bird  he  raised  his  hands,  higher  and  higher, 
as  the  imaginary  melody  he  described  increased  in 
volume,  while  his  face  showed  that  his  thoughts 
were  up  with  the  bird  itself  over  the  tree-tops. 


THE  CLIMAX  173 

"Ah !"  sang  Adelina. 

"Buono!" 

"Ah !" 

"Better!  Now,  the  exercise,"  touching  the 
book  with  the  end  of  his  pencil. 

She  sang  the  first  two  lines,  while  Luigi  kept 
time  with  his  pencil  in  the  air.  Finally,  with  the 
quick  double  stroke  with  which  a  conductor  stops 
his  orchestra,  he  told  her  that  would  do. 

"We  not  wear  you  out  the  first  time,  Adelina," 
he  added,  dropping  the  austerity  of  the  teacher, 
to  become  again  the  affectionate  and  laughing  Un 
cle  Luigi. 

"My  voice  is  not  fatigued,  uncle,"  she  pro 
tested.  "I  can  sing  for  hours.  You  heard  me  in 
the  choir  in  Azalia — at  two  services.  They  did  not 
spare  my  voice  there." 

"That  was  different.  You  not  singing  in  the 
choir  now.  Perhaps  you  never  will.  It  is  more 
likely  you  be  in  grand  opera  house  when  you  have 
been  with  me  a  year.  That  is  why  I  careful.  You 
understand?" 

"Yes,  uncle." 

Then  we  begin  to  see  about  supper,  I  and  Pie- 
tro.  We  have  been  long  time  over  the  lesson — • 
much  longer  than  you  think.  Time  he  fly  when  we 
do  what  we  like,  eh?  Pietro,  what  is  for  supper?" 


174  THE  CLIMAX 

Pietro  looked  rather  miserable  at  the  ques 
tion,  and  did  not  immediately  answer.  Then  he 
mumbled  something  about  "delicatessen." 

"What?"  roared  Luigi.     "Beans?" 

"No.  There  are  other  things  in  the  store  be 
sides  beans,"  retorted  his  son,  angrily. 

"Nothing  that  is  any  better.  But  we  must 
have  something  that  Adelina  can  eat.  What  shall 
we  do?" 

"Don't  distress  yourself,  Uncle  Luigi,"  begged 
Adelina.  "I  can  eat  anything.  You  must  have 
seen  that  when  you  were  in  Azalia.  Besides,  you 
know  something  about  my  appetite  when  I  was  a 
little  girl." 

"We  must  have  steak,  or  chops,  or  something 
like  that,"  he  said. 

Adelina  rubbed  her  hands  together  gleefully. 

"And  I'll  cook  them.  You  have  the  dearest 
little  oil-stove  over  there.  It  will  be  great  fun  to 
me.  Shall  I  go  out  and  buy  the  meat?" 

"No.  You  lose  yourself.  I  go.  Pietro,  you 
get  the  table  ready.  What  meat  I  get,  Adelina? 
Which  you  rather  have?" 

"Anything,  Uncle.  But  chops  make  so  much 
smoke  and  smell.  Suppose  you  bring  a  steak." 

"Buono  !  I  wish  we  could  have  some  spaghetti, 
too.  Never  mind.  I  bring  the  steak." 


THE  CLIMAX  175 

He  was  outside  the  room  ere  he  had  ceased  to 
talk,  and,  as  the  door  closed,  they  could  hear  him 
still  saying  something  about  the  steak  on  his  way 
down  stairs. 

Adelina  ran  over  to  the  oil-stove,  with  an  air 
of  taking  command  that  clinched  another  rivet  in 
the  fascination  she  had  girded  about  poor  Pietro. 
She  asked  for  a  rag,  so  that  she  could  wipe  the 
dust  and  grease  from  the  oil-stove.  That  was  the 
first  thing  to  be  done,  she  said. 

"I  have  thought  of  you  a  great  deal  since  I 
saw  you  in  Azalia,"  said  Pietro,  as  he  tore  a  clean 
pocket-handkerchief  in  two,  and  gave  her  half  of  it 
for  a  duster.  "You,  know,  I  had  heard  my  father 
say  so  much  about  you,  that,  although  I  had  never 
seen  much  of  you  as  a  child,  I  felt  as  if  we  weren't 
strangers." 

"That  was  my  feeling,  Pietro,"  she  replied, 
kindly  enough,  but  without  any  of  the  sentiment 
that  made  the  young  man's  voice  quaver.  "My, 
father  had  mentioned  your  father  many  times.  Get 
me  the  salt.  Have  you  any  butter?  We  shall  need 
some.  Where's  the  frying-pan?" 

Pietro  came  to  her  with  a  bag  of  salt  in  one 
hand,  and  a  triangular  smeary  mass  of  butter,  still 
in  the  thin  wooden  dish  in  which  it  had  come  from 
the  store,  in  the  other.  She  took  the  things  smil- 


176  THE  CLIMAX 

ingly,  but  with  an  inward  shiver  as  she  looked  at 
the  disreputable  butter. 

"Do  you  know,  Adelina,  when  I  am  writing 
music " 

"Now  the  frying-pan,  Pietro.  Oh,  my!  It  is 
all  full  of  hard  grease.  We  must  warm  it  over  the 
fire  and  wipe  it  out.  Where  are  the  matches?" 

"Here  they  are.  Yes,  when  I  am  trying  to 
put  my  fancies  into  a  harmony  that  will  express — " 

"This  frying-pan.  What  was  it  used  for  last? 
Not  fish,  was  it?" 

"No.  Beans,  I  think.  But,  Adelina,  won't  you 
let  me  tell  you  what  a  wonderful  influence  for  good 
that  visit  to  Azalia  had  on  me?" 

"A  change  is  beneficial  to  anyone.  I  am  glad 
Azalia  agreed  with  you." 

She  was  busily  wiping  out  the  frying-pan — 
first  with  paper  and  then  with  the  other  half  of  the 
handkerchief.  Pietro  thought  her  more  attractive 
than  ever.  Her  face  wras  flushed  with  the  excite 
ment  of  her  novel  situation,  as  cook  for  two  bache 
lors,  and  she  was  so  active,  and  her  hands  remained 
sc  white,  in  spite  of  the  frying-pan,  that  poor  Pie 
tro  was  in  a  piteous  state  of  infatuation,  indeed. 

But  how  he  did  wish  she  would  be  serious  with 
him !  He  had  thought  and  dreamed  of  her,  day  and 
night,  ever  since  that  Sunday  in  Azalia,  when  he 


THE  CLIMAX  177 

had  hung  upon  her  voice  as  she  sung  at  St.  Jude's. 
When  he  knew  she  was  coming  to  New  York 
he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  to  declare  himself 
and  force  her  to  give  him  some  hope  in  return. 
Now  she  was  here,  and,  do  what  he  would,  he  found 
himself  of  less  importance  in  her  eyes  than  a  greasy 
frying-pan !  It  was  that  country  doctor,  of  course. 
He  was  in  love  with  her,  Pietro  knew,  and  most 
likely  they  were  engaged  to  be  married.  That  was 
why  she  had  no  desire  to  listen  to  the  conversation 
of  one  who  would  understand  her  as  that  Raymond 
never  could. 

"But  I  am  here,  and  he  is  far  away.  That  is 
in  my  favor,"  he  muttered,  as  he  went  to  the  cup 
board  in  response  to  Adelina's  abrupt  demand  for 
a  clean  plate — for  the  steak,  when  it  should  come 
in. 

"What  did  you  say,  Pietro?" 

"Nothing.  I  was  only  humming  a  bar  or  two 
of  my  'Song  of  a  Soul,' "  he  answered,  with  a 
slightly  bitter  emphasis  on  the  title  of  his  composi 
tion. 

She  made  no  comment  on  this,  but  kept  on 
bustling  about  with  her  culinary  preparations, 
while  he  laid  the  cloth  disconsolately. 

"There  he  is,  back,"  said  Pietro,  in  an  unin 
terested  tone.  "I  hear  him  on  the  stairs." 


i;8  THE  CLIMAX 

"Who,  Uncle  Luigi?" 

"Yes." 

Luigi  breezed  into  the  room,  holding  aloft  in 
his  right  hand  a  goodly-sized  steak  in  a  paper-bag, 
while  the  open  mouth  of  another  bag  under  his  left 
arm  revealed  tomatoes  and  a  lettuce. 

"I  come  back,"  he  proclaimed,  superfluously. 
"If  this  not  a  tender  steak,  I  go  back  and  kill  the 
butcher.  We  will  have  a  salad.  I  make  him  my 
self.  Get  the  oil  and  vinegar,  Pietro." 

"I'm  busy,"  growled  Pietro.  "I  have  to  help 
Adelina  cook  the  steak." 

"Si.  That  is  right,"  assented  Luigi,  with  undis 
turbed  good  temper.  "I  get  the  things  for  the 
salad  myself.  You  help  Adelina." 

There  never  had  been  such  a  meal  prepared 
and  eaten  in  the  Golfanti  apartments.  Luigi  pro 
nounced  it  magnificent,  giving  all  the  credit  for  it 
to  Adelina's  cooking  of  the  steak,  although  she  in  * 
sisted  that  the  salad,  in  which  no  one  had  a  hand 
but  himself,  was  the  star  dish  of  the  menu.  For 
tunately  for  the  butcher,  the  steak  was  tender  and 
juicy. 

There  was  music  and  lots  of  chat  after  dinner, 
and  it  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  when  Luigi  and  Pie 
tro  walked  to  Broadway,  with  Adelina  between 
them,  to  see  her  home. 


THE  CLIMAX  179 

"Here  the  car  comes,  Adelina,"  said  Luigi.  "It 
won't  take  long  for  us  to  ride  up  to  Thirty-eighth 
street." 

"Can't  we  walk,  Uncle  Luigi?  It  is  such  a 
beautiful  evening." 

"Si.  It  is  not  far.  But  we  must  not  make 
you  tired." 

"I  am  a  country  girl,  remember.  I  am  used 
to  long  walks,"  she  said.  "This  little  distance  will 
be  nothing." 

So  the  three  strolled  up  Broadway,  with  its 
dazzling  electric  lights,  its  throngs  of  sauntering 
men  and  women,  its  musical  jingle  of  street-cars, 
its  gay  theatre  entrances  and  hotel  cafes,  and  its 
general  atmosphere  of  reckless  gaiety — smothering 
out  of  sight  the  misery  that  lurked  beneath,  so 
close  to  the  surface,  as  if  it  were  not  there  at  all. 

Adelina  was  too  delighted  to  talk,  or  to  notice 
whether  her  companions  did  so  or  not,  and  she  took 
as  little  heed  of  Luigi's  ceaseless  chatter  as  of  Fie- 

tro's  brooding  muteness. 

i 

"Good  night,  Uncle  Luigi,"  she  said,  as  in  due 
time,  they  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  brownstone  steps 
of  Mrs.  Bates's  boarding-house.  "I  shall  come  to 
you  on  Thursday  for  another  lesson.  Meanwhile, 
I'll  practice  that  exercise  very  hard." 

"Si.     I  like  to  hear  you  say  that.     Addio." 


i8o  THE  CLIMAX 

She  shook  hands  with  both  of  them,  and  then 
ran  up  the  steps.  As  she  opened  the  door  with 
the  key  Mrs.  Bates  had  given  her,  she  waved  a 
playful  farewell  to  Pietro,  who  was  looking  back. 
Then  she  went  in,  and  a  minute  or  two  later  found 
herself  in  her  gaunt  little  back  room  at  the  top  of 
the  house. 

"What  a  delightful  time  I  have  had  on  my 
first  evening  in  New  York,"  she  murmured,  as  she 
locked  herself  in. 

But  afterward  she  cried  herself  to  sleep,  never 
theless. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"How  beautiful  is  this  house!     The  atmosphere 
Breathes  rest  and  comfort,  and  the  many  chambers 
Seem  full  of  welcomes." 

Adelina  breakfasted  at  the  plate-glass  res 
taurant  she  had  patronized  for  luncheon  the  day 
before.  Then  she  returned  to  the  boarding-house 
and  sought  Mrs.  Bates's  "parlor,"  to  use  the  piano, 
in  accordance  with  the  dollar  a  week  arrangement 
made  for  her  by  Luigi  Golfanti.  A  dank,  gloomy, 
stuffy  apartment  was  this  salon.  It  was  pervaded 
by  a  peculiar  odor,  as  of  the  fumes  of  stale  tobacco 
rising  from  a  charnel-house.  When  Adelina  opened 
the  piano,  which  was  an  old-fashioned  square,  the 
smell  waxed  much  stronger,  and —  as  she  told  Luigi 
afterward — she  half  feared  that  the  talented  Mr. 
Brindleheimer,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  had  died 
inside  the  precious  instrument  which  bore  his 
name,  and  had  never  been  found. 

Once  fairly  at  her  work,  however,  Adelina  for 
got  all  about  the  smell  and  sordidness  of  the  place. 
She  had  raised  a  window-shade,  so  that  she  could 
read  her  music,  and  went  through  her  practice  in 

181 


182  THE  CLIMAX 

as  self-concentrated  a  way  as  ever  she  had  done  it  in 
her  own  rose-scented  music-room  in  Azalia.  Once 
Mrs.  Bates  opened  the  door  and  looked  in.  But 
Adelina  was  executing  a  difficult  cadenza  just  then, 
and  did  not  hear  her.  So  Mrs.  Bates,  after  listening 
for  a  few  moments  and  making  sure  that  the  gas 
had  not  been  lighted — for  she  well  knew  it  would 
be  too  dark  to  see  "without  it  unless  the  window- 
shade  were  raised — quietly  withdrew  about  her 
business. 

Adelina  could  think  about  other  things  while 
she  sang,  for  both  singing  and  playing  had  become 
second  nature.  She  read  the  notes  and  played 
them  mechanically  on  the  piano,  while  her  familiar 
ity  with  all  her  exercises  and  selections  enabled 
her  to  sing  them  without  conscious  effort  of  brain. 
So  it  was  that  she  busily  reviewed  her  life  and  spec 
ulated  on  the  future  for  an  hour  before  she 
stopped  and  looked  at  an  old  yellow-faced  clock — 
with  too  much  gilding  and  rococo  decoration  to  be 
respectable — which  ticked  funereally  on  the  man 
tel-piece,  to  see  what  time  it  was. 

"Half-past  ten.  Well,  I'll  practice  till  half-past 
eleven,  and  then  I'll  go  out  for  a  walk,"  she  de 
cided.  "I  wonder  what  John  is  doing.  Somehow, 
I  have  been  thinking  about  him  ever  since  I  came 
down  stairs.  Surely  there  cannot  be  any  connec- 


THE  CLIMAX  183 

tion  in  my  mind  between  him  and  this  room,  be 
cause  both  of  them  are  so  stiff  and  proper — and  dis 
mal." 

The  next  moment  she  rebuked  herself  for  the 
unkind  thought,  even  though  it  had  been  more  than 
half  in  fun.  She  almost  wished  she  had  written  to 
him  directly,  instead  of  only  referring  to  him  in 
her  letter  to  Carrie.  It  was  true  he  never  under 
stood  her,  and  he  always  made  her  unhappy  when 
she  said  anything  which  reminded  him,  ever  so 
distantly,  of  the  great  ambition  of  her  life.  But 
that  his  regard  for  her  was  sincere  she  could  not 
doubt.  What  a  splendid  brother  he  would  have 
made!  For  that  matter,  he  had  filled  the  part  of 
a  brother  to  her  ever  since,  as  a  child,  she  had  first 
been  taken  to  Azalia.  He  had  always  kept  a  big- 
brotherly  eye  on  her,  and  it  had  been  as  natural  to 
appeal  to  "Jacky"  when  she  was  in  any  sort  of  dis 
tress  or  difficulty  as  if  they  really  had  been  brother 
and  sister. 

But — a  brother  is  not  everything  to  a  girl,  and 
Adelina  doubted  whether  she  ever  could  accept 
John  Raymond  in  any  other  relation.  Had  he  been 
in  sympathy  with  her  aspirations  it  might  have 
been  different.  But  he  was  not  even  musical.  He 
could  not  "carry  a  tune,"  as  they  said  in  Azalia, 
and  although  he  enjoyed  listening  to  singing,  es- 


184  THE  CLIMAX 

pecially  hers,  he  never  attempted  to  sing  himself. 
Perhaps  the  reason  that  he  seemed  to  like  hers  so 
much  was  that  he  liked  her.  She  smiled  at  this 
thought — inwardly,  for  she  could  not  screw  her 
mouth  up  into  a  smile  while  she  was  singing.  Then 
she  wished  he  didn't  like  her,  only  to  find  that  such 
a  wish  was  accompanied  by  a  little  ache  in  her 
heart.  How  did  she  really  feel  toward  him? 

She  kept  on  singing.  She  never  had  been  able 
to  answer  that  question  to  her  satisfaction.  It  is 
perhaps  worthy  of  remark  that,  in  all  her  debate 
with  herself  as  to  what  was  John  Raymond's  exact 
place  in  her  regard,  she  never  even  thought  of  Pie- 
tro. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  at  last  she  got  up 
from  the  stool  and  closed  the  heavy,  double-hinged 
lid  of  the  big  square  piano,  shutting  in  part  of  the 
Brindleheimer  effluvia,  but  leaving  enough  floating 
about  to  save  the  room  from  losing  its  distinctive 
flavor.  She  carried  her  music  books  up  to  her  bed 
room.  There  were  inquisitive  boarders  in  Mrs. 
Bates's  pension  who  used  the  parlor  in  the  evening, 
some  of  whom  were  partly  responsible  for  the  stale 
tobacco,  who  would  be  sure  to  thumb  through  her 
music,  none  too  tenderly.  Adelina  had  seen  some 
of  these  boarders  on  the  staircase,  and  she  didn't 
like  the  look  of  them,  particularly  the  over-dressed 


THE  CLIMAX  185 

young  lady,  with  a  mop  of  light  yellow  hair  and 
watery  eyes,  who  had  smiled  at  her  in  a  friendly 
way  as  she  passed. 

When  Adelina  went  out  for  her  walk  she  saw 
enough  to  keep  her  mind  engaged,  without  letting 
it  brood  over  her  personal  perplexities.  Like  most 
people  who  visit  New  York  for  the  first  time,  she 
marveled  at  its  vastness.  She  was  awed  by  the 
apparently  endless  avenues  and  streets,  even  more 
than  by  its  towering  buildings.  She  had  heard  in 
Azalia  about  the  "skyscrapers,"  and  was  prepared 
for  them.  In  fact,  she  experienced  a  little  disap 
pointment  that  they  were  not  higher.  The  Azalia 
estimate  was  that  most  of  them  brushed  the  clouds, 
even  if  the  roofs  were  not  appreciably  close  to  the 
moon.  As  for  Madison  Square  Garden,  the  "Flat- 
iron"  building,  and  the  two  great  opera  houses, 
where  Nordica,  Caruso,  Mary  Garden,  Sembrich, 
Eames  and  the  rest  of  the  famous  stars  sang  in 
grand  opera,  new  and  old,  they  were  so  familiar  to 
her  by  hearsay  that  she  recognized  them  at  once. 
She  made  a  special  trip  down  Thirty-fourth  street 
to  see  the  Manhattan,  and  at  the  Metropolitan 
walked  into  the  spacious  lobby  just  to  feel  that  she 
was  under  the  roof  which  had  sheltered  so  many 
great  songsters. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  practiced  her  exercise 


i86  THE  CLIMAX 

for  another  hour,  with  the  aid  of  the  Brindleheimer 
monstrosity,  and  then  went  for  supper  to  her  plate- 
glass  restaurant,  where  the  flapjack  artist,  in  his 
white  cap  and  apron,  was  still  at  his  endless  task. 
She  spent  the  evening  in  her  bedroom,  reading,  and 
when  she  went  to  bed,  after  her  exciting  day,  she 
fell  asleep  without  crying. 

It  was  just  as  Adelina  was  about  to  leave  the 
house,  the  next  afternoon,  to  go  to  Uncle  Luigi's 
for  her  lesson,  that  Mrs.  Bates  intercepted  her  in 
the  hall.  There  was  a  hard  smirk  on  the  landlady's 
weazened  face,  and  the  girl  prepared  herself  for 
battle. 

"Miss  Von  Hagen,  may  I  speak  to  you  a  mo 
ment?" 

Adelina  stopped  and  waited  for  what  was  com 
ing.  She  knew,  somehow,  that  Mrs.  Bates's  com 
munication  would  not  be  pleasant. 

"Er — times  are  very  hard,  Miss  Von  Hagen." 

"Are  they?" 

Adelina  said  this  mechanically.  She  had  heard 
people  in  Azalia  make  that  assertion  about  "hard 
times"  so  often,  that  it  had  lost  its  meaning  for  her. 

"Yes.  I  never  seen  'em  worse.  What  with  the 
big  rent,  and  the  wear  and  tear  of  furniture,  and 
the  gas,  and  all  them  things,  I  can't  hardly  get 
along.  Of  course,  six  dollars  a  week  for  a  nice  airy 
room  like  you've  got,  with  light  and  heat  throwed 


THE  CLIMAX  187 

in,  is  very  cheap.  There  ain't  another  house  in  this 
part  of  the  city  where  you  could  get  such  a  room 
for  less  than  ten." 

Mrs.  Bates  paused  for  breath,  and  Adelina  was 
tempted  to  remind  her  that,  as  it  was  early  in  Sep 
tember,  there  was  no  artificial  heat  in  her  room. 
But  she  immediately  decided  that  it  was  not  worth 
while,  so  she  said  nothing  and  let  the  landlady 
go  on. 

"So  I  want  to  ask  if  you'd  mind  doubling  up?" 

"Doubling  up?"  repeated  Adelina,  bewildered. 

"Yes.  Take  another  lady  into  your  room  with 
you.  She  is  a  very  nice,  hard-working  girl.  I've 
knowed  her  for  years.  She's  a  manicure." 

"But— " 

Well,  of  course,  as  I  say,  six  dollars  is  too 
little  for  your  room,  and,  unless  you'll  agree  to 
double  up  with  this  lady  I  speak  of,  I  shall  have 
to  make  your  rent  eight  dollars  after  this  week." 

The  absurd  impossibility  of  two  persons  occu 
pying  the  little  hall  room  was  manifest,  and  Ade 
lina  answered  coldly  that  she  would  move  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  for  which  her  rent  had  been  paid. 

"Very  well,  Miss  Von  Hagen.  That  will  be 
Monday.  Signer  Golfanti  engaged  the  room  for 
you  that  day,  and  though  you  didn't  sleep  in  it  on 
Monday  night,  of  course  it  was  yours  if  you'd  been 


i88  THE  CLIMAX 

here.  I'll  tell  the  other  lady  she  can  move  in  on 
Monday  morning,  and  I  must  ask  you  kindly  to 
have  your  trunk  taken  out  by  then." 

Mrs.  Bates  flounced  away  to  her  lower  regions, 
and  Adelina  went  to  Uncle  Luigi  for  advice. 

"So !  The  fool  old  woman !"  was  Luigi's  ex 
plosive  exclamation,  when  Adelina  had  told  her 
story.  "What  she  think  you  are — sardine?  I  give 
Mrs.  Bates  piece  of  my  mind  when  I  see  her — good 
large  piece,  too.  Maladetta!" 

"I  could  kill  her!"  put  in  Pietro,  whose  indig 
nation  had  kept  him  silent  till  now. 

"That  would  not  help  the  situation,  Pietro," 
laughed  Adelina.  "What  troubles  me  is  to  know 
where  I  shall  find  another  room.  I'm  afraid  I  shall 
have  to  depend  on  Uncle  Luigi,  as  I  did  before." 

"Si.  I  will  get  you  a  nice  room — nicer  than 
old  Bates's,  in  a  fine  place,  where  it  is  quiet  and 
respectable.  Si.  That  will  be  easy.  Now,  your 
lesson.  Sit  down  at  the  piano." 

The  lesson  went  on  in  about  the  same  way  as 
had  the  other,  two  days  before.  Luigi  was  in 
sistent  that  she  must  sing  exactly  as  he  desired, 
and  he  did  not  spare  her  a  scolding  once,  when  he 
considered  it  deserved.  Pietro  had  gone  into  the 
studio,  and  was  engaged  with  a  pupil — not  Anton 
Rubinstein,  this  time. 


THE  CLIMAX  lg 

"You  ha'n  y°U  keep  h°USe  f°r  me  'Tuesday," 
Luigi  told  her.  lessons  for  doinS  if  tell  you  to  do, 
and  you  try  to  do  i.~ee'  -*  be  a  great  singer, 

Adelina.  Ah,  I  wish  I  had  you  always  where  I 
could  watch  you  when  you  practice,  and  correct 
you  whenever  you  make  little  mistake.  I  would 
get  you  on  so  much  faster — so  much  faster.  Now 
I  give  you  lesson,  and  you  go  away  for  two  days. 
You  practice  by  yourself.  I  not  there  to  help  when 
you  get  to  hard  place,  and  you  must — what  you 
call? — flounder,  till  I  see  you  again.  It  is  a  pity 
that  you  cannot  have  me  all  the  time,  so  that — " 

His  grumbling  stopped  all  at  once,  and  jump 
ing  up  from  his  chair,  he  strode  rapidly  up  and 
down  the  room,  his  expressive  hands  and  arms 
beating  the  air  this  way  and  that,  in  unison  with  his 
thoughts.  Adelina  looked  at  him  expectantly.  She 
knew  some  plan  was  revolving  in  his  brain,  and 
that  he  was  endeavoring  to  mold  it  into  coherent 
form.  The  sound  of  the  piano  in  the  studio,  where 
Pietro  was  giving  his  lesson,  came  faintly  to  her 
ear  at  intervals.  Then  it  stopped  altogether.  The 
lesson  had  ended.  As  Pietro  entered  the  room,  his 
father  ran  to  him,  embraced  him — outside  of  his 
arms — and  shouted: 

"Pietro,  we'll  do  it!" 

"Do  what?"  demanded  Pietro,  who  had  not  the 


IQO 

THE  CLIMAX 

slightest  ia  .n  his  father's 

U  the  other  lady  she  <. 
mind. 


«AJ  i-          o  must,-        „    „. 

Adelina!   She  ith  us.      Then,  turn- 

4-      * 

ing  to  the  girl  :   "That's  what  I  mean,  Adelina." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  wondered  whether 
he  had  lost  his  senses. 

"Uncle  Luigi!" 

"Si.  That  is  so.  I  am  your  uncle.  Never  for 
get  that.  Well,  I  take  care  of  my  niece.  That  old 
woman,  Mrs.  Bates,  not  insult  her  again.  Adelina 
have  home  of  her  own,  where  she  will  be  queen, 
and  no  landlady  will  dare  speak  to  her.  Look. 
Here  the  way  we  do.  Pietro  and  I  have  this  big 
room,  and  other  little  room  where  we  sleep.  Buono  ! 
Then  there  is  the  studio,  where  Pietro  give  his  les 
son,  while  I  have  my  pupil  in  here.  So!  Now  we 
take  that  other  room  over  there,  where  the  door  is, 
locked.  It  is  empty.  The  landlord  want  me  to 
take  it.  I  tell  him  last  week  I  not  want  it.  Now 
we  get  it." 

"But,  Uncle—" 

Luigi  laid  a  hand  caressingly  on  her  shoulder. 

"Don't  speak  till  I  tell  you  all,  Adelina.  We 
do  this  :  I  tell  the  landlord  we  will  rent  that  other 
room.  He  let  me  have  it  cheap.  It  shall  be  your 
room.  It  larger  than  the  one  at  Mrs.  Bates's,  and 
not  cost  so  much.  You  pay  the  rent  of  that  room 


THE  CLIMAX  191 

yourself.  Then  you  keep  house  for  me  and  Pietro, 
and  I  give  you  lessons  for  doing  it.  So!  It  will 
be  all  business,  you  see.  But  I  shall  be  able  always 
to  listen  when  you  practice,  and  you  use  this 
piano." 

"But,  don't  you  think  people  might  talk,  and — " 

"Pouf!  What  they  say?  I  your  uncle,  and 
Pietro  your  cousin." 

Pietro  nodded  energetically. 

"Well,"  continued  Luigi.  "Your  uncle  have 
right  to  let  his  niece  live  with  him.  You  will  be 
like  my  daughter.  That  all." 

There  was  more  discussion,  and  at  last  Ade- 
lina  was  brought  to  see  the  idea  in  the  same  light 
as  did  Luigi.  It  had  appealed  powerfully  to  Pietro 
from  the  beginning. 

"You  do  need  someone  to  cook  for  you,  and  to 
see  that  the  rooms  are  swept  and  dusted,"  she  said, 
slowly,  as  she  thought  of  the  muddle  the  place  had 
been  in  the  first  time  she  saw  it,  and  recollections 
of  the  greasy  frying-pan  forced  themselves  upon 
her. 

"Si,"  assented  Luigi,  cheerfully.  "Mrs.  Vit- 
torio,  who  live  up  stairs,  she  come  and  sweep  some 
times.  She  good  woman.  Her  husband  dead,  and 
she  have  to  work  hard.  Sometimes  she  go  on  as 
'extra'  at  theatre.  Then  she  cannot  come  to  sweep, 


192  THE  CLIMAX 

and  the  rooms  they  get  so  dusty  I  sneeze  all  day. 
Eh,  Pietro?" 

"I  sweep  them,  don't  I,  father?"  said  Pietro,  in 
a  slightly  injured  tone. 

"Si.  You  do,  Pietro.  That  when  I  sneeze. 
But  now,  when  Adelina  come,  she  have  Mrs.  Vit- 
torio  do  it,  and  when  she  not  able  to  come,  she  find 
another  woman.  Oh,  it  will  be  fine.  La,  la,  la!" 

Luigi  caught  Adelina  and  Pietro  each  by  the 
hand  and  danced  joyously,  whirling  them  both 
around,  so  that,  in  self-defence,  they  were  obliged 
to  join  hands  with  each  other,  forming  a  ring.  Fool 
ish  folk,  weren't  they?  But  they  were  happy,  and 
all  three  had  Italian  blood  in  them. 

Next  Monday  Adelina's  trunk  was  in  the  ad 
ditional  room  of  the  Golfanti  suite,  and  she  became 
mistress  of  the  household  of  her  Uncle  Luigi  and 
Cousin  Pietro. 

"This  seems  like  home,"  she  said  to  Luigi,  as, 
having  looked  with  delight  about  her  own  cozy 
chamber,  she  came  into  the  large  room  where 
the  grand  piano  was,  with  a  feeling  of  ownership 
that  she  had  hardly  expected  ever  to  experience 
again  when  she  walked  out  of  the  garden  in  Azalia 
for  the  last  time. 

"It  is  your  home,"  Luigi  reminded  her. 

"I  hope  you'll  be  happy  in  it,  Adelina,"  added 
poor  love-lorn  Pietro. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  'How  does  he  love  me?' 
"'With   adorations,   with  fertile  tears, 

With  groans  that  thunder  love,  with  sighs  of  fire.' " 

It  was  nothing  less  than  amazing  to  Luigi  Gol- 
fanti  that  he  and  Pietro  had  been  able  to  live  at  all 
before  Adelina  came.  Neither  had  realized  what  a 
wretched  makeshift  their  existence  was  when  they 
were  blundering  along  without  her.  Now  it  was  all 
so  different.  She  dropped  easily  and  naturally  into 
the  position  of  mother  of  the  family — as  she  said 
merrily  to  Pietro,  on  the  second  day,  when  she  took 
a  needle  and  thread  out  of  his  awkward  fingers  and 
sewed  a  button  on  his  coat,  after  he  had  boggled 
at  it  helplessly  for  a  few  seconds.  It  was  not  only 
that  she  cut  down  the  trade  of  the  delicatessen 
store  in  the  basement,  by  buying  uncooked  food 
and  preparing  it  for  consumption  on  the  ever-use 
ful  oil-stove.  She  saw,  as  only  a  woman  could, 
that  there  were  a  hundred  holes  and  corners  in  the 
housekeeping  through  which  money  dribbled  and 
was  lost,  and  which  money  could  easily  be  saved 
by  ordinary  economy.  The  sheets  and  tablecloths 

193 


194  THE  CLIMAX 

had  been  permitted  to  go  to  ruin  for  lack  of  a  few 
stitches  when  they  began  to  give  way.  Odds  and 
ends  of  butter,  sugar  and  cheese  were  wasted. 
Eggs  hid  behind  dishes  and  cups  in  the  cupboard, 
and  became  unusable.  Dust  accumulated  on  the 
piano,  while  cigarette-ends  (Luigi  smoked  a  great 
many  cigarettes),  fell  inside  the  instrument  and 
threatened  to  clog  the  action.  And  all  this  had 
been  going  on  for  years. 

Adelina  went  through  the  apartments  like  a 
genius  of  order  and  renovation.  In  less  than  a 
week  the  place  looked  altogether  different.  Also, 
i't  smelled  better. 

Before  she  had  finished  the  work  of  bringing 
the  rooms  to  a  satisfactory  state  of  cleanliness  and 
tidiness  she  insisted  that  Luigi  and  Pietro  should 
submit  their  wardrobe  to  her  for  inspection.  They 
could  not  do  so  all  at  once.  Not  that  either  had  a 
large  stock  of  clothing,  but  because  most  of  it  was 
on  their  persons  during  their  waking  hours. 

"I  have  only  two  coats,  Adelina,"  explained 
Luigi,  apologetically.  "One  is  light  and  the  other 
dark.  Which  one  you  want  to  see  first?  Then  I 
can  put  on  the  other." 

"Either  one,  Uncle." 

"They  both  laughed,  as  if  it  were  a  joke  to  be 
poor.  Perhaps  that  was  the  view  they  took  of  it, 


THE  CLIMAX  195 

for  Luigi  never  had  outgrown  his  boyish  careless 
ness  over  money  matters,  while  to  Aclelina,  be 
cause  the  actual  gripe  of  poverty  had  always  been 
tmknown  to  her,  worldly  possessions  were  of  no 
particular  consequence.  Her  father  had  never 
stinted  her  in  housekeeping  money,  and  she  had 
taken  plenty  for  granted. 

"I  have  three  full  suits,"  volunteered  Pietro. 

"Si,  and  none  of  them  will  fit  me,"  said  Luigi, 
with  mock  regret.  "But  you  may  be  able  to  alter 
them  so  that  I  can  wear  them — eh,  Adelina?" 

He  broke  into  a  hurricane  of  mirth,  in  which 
Adelina  was  obliged  to  join,  and  even  Pietro,  who 
had  been  in  one  of  his  frequent  trances  of  adora 
tion,  allowed  himself  to  laugh  soberly. 

Adelina  took  her  regular  two  lessons  a  week 
of  Luigi,  but  generally,  as  she  practiced  every 
day,  he  was  near,  to  give  a  helpful  hint  or  tell  her 
when  she  was  wrong,  so  that  virtually  she  had  a 
lesson  daily.  But  he  was  not  always  with  her. 
There  were  hours  when  she  was  alone,  for  both 
Luigi  and  Pietro  were  compelled  often  to  go  to  the 
homes  of  some  of  their  pupils.  At  such  times  it 
delighted  her  to  surprise  them  with  some  favorite 
dish  for  dinner  or  supper  when  they  returned,  tired 
and  hungry,  after  a  long,  disheartening  endeavor 
to  beat  music  into  unmusical  people.  Luigi  had 


196  THE  CLIMAX 

taught  her  to  prepare  spaghetti  in  the  Neapolitan 
style,  and  it  was  a  common  assertion  of  his  that  she 
never  could  have  attained  such  perfection  in  the  art 
— he  called  cooking  spaghetti  an  art — if  she  had  not 
been  the  daughter  of  an  Italian  mother. 

Carrie  Raymond  wrote  to  her  twice,  telling 
her  the  striking  news  of  Azalia.  How  Daddy 
Wylie  had  got  the  increase  in  his  pension  that  he 
had  been  after  for  twenty  years ;  how  Susan  Tread- 
house  was  back  in  the  choir,  and  had  defied  the 
music  committee  ever  to  put  her  out  again ;  how 
Adelina's  black  Spanish  rooster,  which  John  had 
placed  in  the  care  of  Mrs.  Ehrhardt,  had  got  in 
with  that  lady's  white  leghorn  rooster  one  day,  and 
nearly  killed  him  before  the  Spanish  pirate  could  be 
driven  off  with  a  broom ;  how  Professor  Theophilus 
Cooper  had  announced  that  he  was  coming  to  Aza 
lia  again,  to  give  his  lecture  on  hypnotism  and  men 
tal  suggestion  in  the  Town  Hall,  and  how  she  and 
John  were  going  to  hear  him,  and  hoped  to  persuade 
their  father  to  go,  too. 

John  Raymond  also  wrote  once.  His  letter 
was  of  a  business  complexion.  He  said  he  did  not 
think  the  house  could  be  sold  until  the  spring,  but 
that  he  was  looking  after  the  furniture,  and  that 
everything,  including  the  piano,  was  in  good  condi 
tion.  He  hoped  she  found  her  study  with  Signor 


THE  CLIMAX  197 

Golfanti  had  been  beneficial,  and  that  the  air  of 
New  York  agreed  with  her.  He  said  they  all  missed 
her  very  much,  and  that  her  friends  were  counting 
on  seeing  her  among  them  again  within  a  year  at 
most.  He  did  not  understand  exactly  how  she  was 
living  in  the  same  house  with  Luigi  Golfanti  and 
his  son,  but  supposed  it  was  a  convenient  arrange 
ment.  There  was  more  of  the  same  sort  of  thing, 
but  not  a  word  about  his  suffering  from  her  ab 
sence,  nor  of  his  going  into  the  garden  every  day 
for  a  pansy,  to  wear  on  his  coal-lapel,  over  his 
aching  heart.  Perhaps  she  had  forgotten  what  she 
had  once  told  him  about  the  curative  effect  of  that 
flower,  or,  if  it  ever  occurred  to  her,  no  doubt  she 
thought  of  it  only  as  a  foolish  superstition.  Possi 
bly,  and  yet — who  knows? 

..Adelina  answered  John's  letter.  She  said  her 
singing  voice  was  improving  under  the  tuition  of 
her  Uncle,  Signer  Golfanti,  and  she  was  very  glad 
she  had  come  to  New  York.  She  mentioned  casu 
ally  that  she  was  acting  as  housekeeper  for  Signer 
Golfanti  and  his  son  Pietro,  and  that  it  was  quite 
like  home.  She  had  not  been  to  the  opera  yet,  be 
cause  there  was  none  at  that  time  of  year,  but  she 
intended  to  go  with  her  uncle  and  cousin  when  the 
season  opened — up  in  the  gallery.  She  would  not 
be  able  to  afford  to  go  in  any  other  part  of  the 


198  THE  CLIMAX 

house,  because  the  prices  were  so  high — five  dollars 
a  seat  in  the  parquette.  But  Uncle  Luigi  said  the 
gallery  was  the  best  place  to  hear,  on  account  of 
the  sound  rising,  and  that  he  would  go  there,  in 
preference  to  the  parquette  or  dress-circle,  even  if 
he  had  millions  of  dollars.  She  signed  herself  "Al 
ways  yours  sincerely,  Adelina  Von  Hagen." 

Had  she  a  set  purpose  in  using  this  form  of  sig 
nature?  That  was  what  John  Raymond  tried  to 
decide  as  he  pored  over  the  letter  in  his  den — 
known  in  the  Raymond  home  as  "the  doctor's  li 
brary" — for  hours  after  his  father  and  sister  were 
enjoying  the  sleep  of  the  pious  and  good  in  their 
respective  beds. 

John  dissected  the  "Always  yours  sincerely" 
word  by  word.  "Always?"  That  was  comforting, 
to  begin  with.  She  always  had  been  his,  and  she 
always  would  be.  Of  course,  she  desired  to  remind 
him  of  the  fact.  If  she  really  meant  that,  what 
need  to  worry?  "Yours?"  Yes,  she  was  his.  She 
admitted  it.  Moreover,  she  was  always  his,  as  the 
first  word  had  told  him.  Then,  to  clinch  it,  she  had 
added  the  assurance  "sincerely."  That  was  a  beau 
tiful  word — sincerely.  In  this  connection  it  could 
only  mean  that  she  wanted  him  to  understand  she 
was  sincere,  and  that  he  could  depend  on  her,  no 
matter  though  she  was  temporarily  out  of  his  life. 


THE  CLIMAX  199 

He  wished,  however,  she  had  been  content  to  call 
herself  simply  "Adelina."  Surely  the  addition  of 
her  surname  was  unnecessary.  She  was  "Adelina" 
to  him — always  had  been.  She  couldn't  expect  him 
to  think  of  her  as  "Miss  Von  Hagen,"  could  she  ? 

He  turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  as  he 
smoothed  the  letter  out  on  the  table,  under  the 
strong  light  of  his  green-shaded  student  lamp,  but 
never  was  he  entirely  satisfied.  He  put  one  part 
of  the  signature  against  another,  and  weighed  with 
nicety  each  sentence  she  had  written  throughout 
the  entire  letter.  At  the  end  he  found  himself 
where  he  had  been  at  the  beginning — in  a  slough  of 
perplexity  and  tormenting  doubt  that  made  him 
sigh  and  pace  up  and  down  the  room  frowningly 
for  many  minutes  at  a  time.  It  was  nearly  daylight 
when  he  went  to  bed,  but  as  he  lay  down  the  prob 
lem  which  had  been  distressing  him  for  hours  was 
solved,  at  least  to  the  extent  that  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  what  to  do. 

John  Raymond  was  very  busy  for  the  next  two 
weeks,  frequently  consulting  with  Dr.  Simmons  and 
'Squire  Morgan,  and  holding  earnest  conversations 
with  his  father  and  sister.  The  general  population 
were  not  taken  into  his  confidence,  but  somehow  it 
leaked  out  that  "Doc"'  Raymond  contemplated 
going  away  from  town,  to  "learn  to  be  a  better  doc- 


200  THE  CLIMAX 

tor,"  as  Mrs.  Solomon  Potter  phrased  it,  when 
talking  it  over  with  Miss  Crupp  and  Mrs.  Wilkins. 
Mrs.  Potter  had  not  heard  the  "perticklers,"  but 
she  understood  he  was  going  to  New  York,  to 
spend  his  time  in  the  hospitals,  where  he  would 
have  a  chance  to  operate  on  patients  at  "clin- 
tericks."  Miss  Crupp  opined,  sonorously,  that  pos 
sibly  Mrs.  Potter  meant  to  say  "clinics."  But  the 
good  lady  took  the  correction  in  very  ill  part,  re 
marking,  in  a  lofty  tone,  that  Miss  Crupp  was  mis 
taken — that  while  Miss  Crupp  might  have  "clinics" 
in  her  mind,  she  (Mrs.  Potter)  meant  what  she  said, 
which  was  "clintericks."  This  point  disposed  of, 
the  discussion  of  "Doc"  Raymond's  going  away 
was  resumed,  the  final  decision  being  that  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  him. 

It  was  not  overlooked  by  the  gossips  that  Ad- 
die  Von  Hagen  was  in  New  York,  and  that  more 
than  likely  this  was  one  of  the  reasons  "Doc" 
wanted  to  go  there.  Gossiping  women  are  often 
wrong  in  their  conjectures.  On  the  other  hand, 
sometimes  they  hit  the  truth. 

Adelina  had  been  occupying  her  little  bedroom 
in  the  Golfanti  suite  of  apartments  for  three  weeks, 
becoming  daily  more  attached  to  her  Uncle  Luigi 
and  more  familiar,  in  an  elder  sister  way,  with  Pie- 
tro,  when  one  day  a  letter  came  that  sent  a  thrill 


THE  CLIMAX  201 

through  her  the  nature  of  which  she  could  not  define 
positively  either  as  pleasure  or  dismay.  If  she  had 
analyzed  the  feeling  closely  she  might  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a  mixture  of  both. 
The  envelope  was  postmarked  "New  York,"  and  the 
name  of  a  hotel  in  the  neighborhood  of  Madison 
Square  was  printed  in  the  upper  left-hand  corner. 

She  was  alone  when  the  missive  came.  It  hap 
pened  to  be  a  morning  when  both  Luigi  and  Pietro 
had  been  obliged  to  go  out  early  to  give  lessons, 
and  she  was  about  to  sit  down  to  the  piano  for  prac 
tice.  There  were  only  a  few  lines.  They  read: 

''Dear  Adelina — I  have  come  to  New  York,  to 
attend  lectures  in  the  hospitals,  and  intend  to  re 
main  some  time.  When  may  I  call  to  see  you  and 
your  friends,  Signer  Golfanti  and  his  son?  May  I 
come  to-morrow  (Thursday)  ?  I  trust  you  are  all 
well.  I  am  at  a  hospital  not  far  from  your  address 
from  eleven  to  three  every  day. 

"Hastily,  but  sincerely, 

"JOHN  RAYMOND." 

That  was  all.  Adelina  thought  he  might  have 
written  more,  even  if  he  was  in  haste.  It  would 
not  have  taken  many  minutes  to  add  a  few  lines 
which  would  show  that  he  was  something  more  to 
her  than  a  mere  acquaintance.  It  was  all  very  well 
for  her  to  write  to  him  in  an  offhand  way.  She 
was  a  girl,  and  he  could  not  expect  her  to  be  ef- 


202  THE  CLIMAX 

fusive,  especially  on  paper,  in  black  and  white.  She 
did  not  know  that  she  ever  would  say  "Yes"  to  the 
important  question  he  had  put  to  her  three  times, 
but  she  liked  him.  They  had  been  playmates  as 
children,  and  she  had  accustomed  herself  to  lean 
on  him  in  later  years.  That  was  proof  that  he  was 
more  to  her  than  other  young  men,  and  he  should 
have  recognized  it  by  sending  a  longer — and 
warmer — letter.  As  for  his  being  in  New  York, 
that  was  not  so  much  of  a  surprise.  He  had  always 
said  he  meant  to  go  there  at  some  time  or  other. 
Of  course,  it  gave  her  a  little  shock  to  be  told  that 
he  was  here  now,  but  she  would  have  felt  that  if 
he  had  come  at  any  other  time  without  warning. 
When  you  think  a  person  is  hundreds  of  miles 
away,  you  are  sure  to  experience  some  slight  agita 
tion  if  you  learn  suddenly  that  he  is  only  just 
around  the  corner.  That  was  one  of  John's 
offences.  She  was  inclined  to  be  angry  with  him 
for  not  having  let  her  know  that  he  was  about  to 
leave  Azalia.  It  was  inconsiderate,  to  say  the  least. 
When  Luigi  and  Pietro  came  in  from  their  les 
sons,  within  a  few  minutes  of  each  other,  half  an 
hour  later,  they  found  Adelina  at  the  piano,  singing 
industriously,  with  the  open  letter  by  the  side  of 
her  music-book  in  front  of  her.  She  stopped  sing 
ing  as  Luigi  entered  and  held  out  the  letter  to  him. 


THE  CLIMAX  203 

"What  is  it,  Adelina  ?"  he  asked. 

"From  Mr.  Raymond.  He  is  in  New  York,,  and 
wants  to  come  and  see  you  and  Pietro." 

Luigi  read  the  letter  deliberately. 

"So?  He  want  to  see  me  and  Pietro,  eh?  He 
not  want  to  see  you,  of  course,"  said  Luigi,  with  a 
quizzical  laugh.  "Anyhow,  he  nice  fellow,  and  I 
glad  to  see  him.  Pietro  want  to  see  him,  too.  Eh, 
Pietro?" 

But  Pietro  went  to  his  studio,  shutting  the 
door  with  a  bang. 

"What  shall  I  tell  him,  Uncle?  He  says  he 
would  like  to  see  us  to-morrow?"  asked  Adelina, 
looking  at  the  letter. 

"Tell  him  it  will  give  us  all  pleasure  to  see  him. 
We  all  be  home  to-morrow.  Buono!  Let  him 
come  to  breakfast." 

"Breakfast,  Uncle?"  cried  Adelina,  incredu 
lously. 

"Yes.  You  see  he  says  he  at  the  hospital  from 
eleven  to  three.  Well,  he  not  be  able  to  come  for 
luncheon,  and  he  not  want  to  wait  till  evening." 

"Perhaps  he  does." 

"No,  no,  no,  Adelina.  I  see  him  looking  at 
you  when  I  in  Azalia,  and  I  know.  He  not  wait 
any  longer  than  he  can  help.  We  have  him  here 
for  breakfast — at  nine,  eh?" 


204  THE  CLIMAX 

"I  should  never  have  thought  of  inviting  him 
at  that  time." 

"Then  my  thoughts  are  better  than  yours,  eh? 
Now  you  write  him  nice  note.  Say  he  come  for 
breakfast  at  nine  in  the  morning.  You  put  him  in 
envelope — the  letter,  I  mean — and  I  take  him  to  his 
hotel  and  leave  it  for  him  myself." 

Luigi  Golfanti's  pronouns  were  inclined  to  be 
come  confused  under  the  influence  of  excitement, 
but  the  girl  understood  him. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Luigi,  you  must  not  take  that  trou 
ble." 

"Si.  I  take  him.  You  write  the  note.  It  would 
not  get  there  in  time  through  the  mail,  maybe." 

Adelina  did  as  she  was  told.  She  wrote  that 
they  all  wanted  to  see  him,  and  that  he  must  come 
to  breakfast  with  them  the  next  morning,  so  that 
his  visit  would  not  interfere  with  his  engagements 
at  the  hospital.  They  would  expect  him  at  nine. 

"Where  has  father  gone,  Adelina?"  asked  Pie- 
tro,  coming  from  the  studio  as  he  heard  the  outer 
door  of  the  large  room  close. 

"To  Madison  Square,  with  a  letter.  Mr.  Ray 
mond  will  be  with  us  for  breakfast  to-morrow 
morning." 

"Will  he?     Are  you  glad  he's  coming?" 

"Why,  of  course.     Aren't  you?" 


THE  CLIMAX  205 

"Yes.     I'm  delighted,"  replied  Pietro,  shortly. 

Then  he  marched  to  the  piano  and  played 
thunderously,  while  Adelina,  appearing  not  to  no 
tice  the  noise,  went,  with  a  thoughtful  face,  about 
her  preparations  for  luncheon. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Then  give  me  leave  to  read  philosophy, 
And,  while  I  pause,  serve  in  your  harmony." 

John  Raymond  was  out  when  Luigi  Golfanti 
delivered  Adelina's  letter  at  the  hotel,  so  there 
could  be  no  immediate  answer  to  the  invitation. 
But  Adelina  never  doubted  that  their  expected 
guest  would  arrive  in  time  for  breakfast  the  next 
day.  So  sure  was  she  that  he  would  be  there  at 
nine  o'clock,  that  she  made  the  coffee,  timed  to  be 
ready  to  pour  on  the  stroke  of  the  hour,  had  the  hot 
rolls  in  the  little  tin  oven  belonging  to  the  oil- 
stove,  and  put  the  eggs  handy  in  a  saucer,  waiting 
to  be  dropped  into  the  boiling  water  in  the  sauce 
pan  over  one  of  the  burners.  The  breakfast 
equipage,  always  neat  and  clean  under  her  care, 
was  even  more  inviting  than  usual,  if  that  could 
be  possible.  In  a  glass  vase  in  the  centre  of  the 
table  was  a  cluster  of  fresh  pansies.  She  had  or 
dered  them  at  the  florist's  the  day  before,  and  had 
been  for  them  that  morning. 

Pietro  had  just  entered  the  room  from  his 
studio,  and,  seated  on  the  piano-stool,  he  watched 

206 


THE  CLIMAX  207 

her  arranging  them   with   a  deft,   light,   caressing 
touch,  such  as  only  a  woman  can  give  to  flowers. 

"How  do  you  like  the  pansies,  Pietro?"  she 
asked. 

"Why  didn't  you  get  roses?"  was  his  response. 
"American  Beauties  are  what  I  like." 

He  looked  at  her  languishingly. 

"Don't  be  silly,  Pietro,"  she  said,  as,  glancing 
at  the  clock,  she  saw  that  it  was  ten  minutes  of 
nine.  "What's  Uncle  doing?" 

"Shaving,"  replied  Pietro.  Then :  "Am  I  silly 
because  I  call  you  an  American  beauty?  That's 
what  you  are.  It  isn't  my  fault." 

He  turned  to  the  piano  and  played  part  of  his 
"Fragment,"  which  he  had  told  her  in  his  letter  to 
Azalia  was  to  be  called  "The  Song  of  a  Soul."  Sud 
denly,  he  asked,  without  looking  away  from  the 
keyboard : 

"What  time  is  this  Doctor  What's-his-name 
coming?" 

"Doctor  'What's-his-name'  is  not  his  name,  Pie 
tro,"  she  replied,  reprovingly,  as  she  poured  some 
milk  from  its  bottle  into  a  pitcher. 

Pietro  tossed  his  head  impatiently  and  made 
a  lightning  run  in  arpeggios  with  his  right  hand, 
while  he  banged  out  his  ill-humor  in  fierce  heavy 
chords  with  the  other. 


208  THE  CLIMAX 

"Well,  what  time  is  Doctor  John  Raymond  to 
honor  us  with  his  company?" 

Adelina  ignored  the  slow,  sneering  emphasis 
with  which  Pietro  had  uttered  John  Raymond's 
name,  and  returned : 

"About  nine." 

"I  don't  like  him,"  snapped  Pietro. 

"You  hardly  know  him.  You  only  saw  him 
two  or  three  times  when  you  made  that  short  visit 
to  my  father  in  Azalia." 

"I  saw  enough  of  him  to  know  I  didn't  care 
for  him,  and  I  wish  you  didn't.  Why  couldn't  he 
stay  in  Ohio,  where  he  belongs?" 

"Why  didn't  I?"  laughed  Adelina. 

She  was  different,  he  told  her,  moodily,  strik 
ing  the  piano  keys  in  chords,  triplets  and  little 
chromatic  runs  up  and  down.  He  was  trying  to 
control  himself  so  that  he  could  meet  John  Ray 
mond  with  some  pretence  of  cordiality.  In  five 
minutes  this  "interloper,"  as  Pietro  mentally  styled 
him,  would  arrive. 

"I  don't  see  that  there  is  much  difference,"  she 
said,  raising  the  lid  of  the  coffee-pot  and  looking 
into  it  solicitously.  "I  came  to  New  York  to  study 
singing.  Doctor  Raymond  came  to  improve  him 
self  in  his  profession.  The  only  distinction  is  that 


THE  CLIMAX  209 

I  give  my  time  to  music,  while  he  goes  to  the  hos 
pital,  hoping  to  become  an  abler  physician." 

Pietro  flung  himself  from  the  piano-stool  im 
patiently. 

"Bah!  He  came  to  New  York  because  you  are 
here." 

"Well,  wouldn't  you  do  the  same  thing?"  she 
rejoined.  "Wouldn't  you,  Pietro?" 

But  Pietro  had  no  opportunity  to  reply  just 
then,  even  if  he  had  intended  to  do  so,  for  Luigi 
came  surging  in  from  his  bedroom,  not  only  shaved, 
but  with  his  gray  hair  arranged  in  the  killing 
fashion  in  which  he  had  worn  it  in  the  days  when 
he  played  Manrico,  Faust  and  Lohengrin  to  the 
Leonora,  Margherita  and  Elsa  of  Adelina's  mother. 
He  did  not  often  trouble  himself  about  the  set  of 
his  hair,  but  he  felt  that  this  was  a  special  occasion 
to  which  he  must  pay  due  honor. 

"Here  I  am,  Adelina.    What's  the  time?" 

Their  apartment  bell,  communicating  with  the 
push-button  on  the  door-post  in  the  street,  rang 
loudly. 

"It's  exactly  nine  o'clock,"  answered  Adelina, 
gaily,  "and  here  is  Doctor  Raymond.  Who's  going 
to  let  him  in?" 

But  Luigi  Golfanti  was  already  on  his  way 
down  stairs.  Pietro  retreated  to  his  studio.  He 


210  THE  CLIMAX 

didn't  believe  he  could  bear  being  present  when 
Adelina  and  John  Raymond  met. 

Adelina  stood,  alone,  by  the  little  oil-stove, 
looking  with  unseeing  eyes  toward  the  door,  while 
her  hands  closed  and  unclosed  convulsively.  All 
the  careless  laughter  had  left  her  face,  which  was 
pale  and  set,  as  she  fought  desperately  with  her 
self,  that  she  might  greet  John  Raymond  with 
something  of  the  old  regard  in  her  manner.  She 
had  seen  him  only  a  month  before,  but  that  month 
had  meant  so  much  to  her,  away  from  the  narrow 
environment  of  Azalia.  How  could  she  feign  to 
him  that  she  was  the  same,  when  she  knew  so  well 
that  she  was  not?  It  was  as  if  she  had  escaped 
from  a  prison,  and  was  expected  to  show  pleasure 
when  one  of  her  old  keepers  came  to  recapture  her. 

Too  well  Adelina  knew  that  John  Raymond 
would  not  approve  of  her  present  mode  of  life,  in 
nocent  as  it  was.  He  never  had  been  in  sympathy 
with  her  in  what  she  strove  for — the  possession  of 
a  highly  trained  voice,  that  would  render  her  inde 
pendent,  not  only  of  Azalia,  but  of  every  other 
place.  How,  then,  could  she  expect  him  to  look 
with  favor  on  this  semi-Bohemian  existence  of  hers? 
No  matter  what  she  may  have  said  to  him,  he  be 
lieved  that  eventually  she  would  be  his  wife,  and 


THE  CLIMAX  211 

he  would  have  liked  to  order  her  life  in  his  own 
way,  with  that  idea  ever  in  view. 

"But  he  shan't  do  it.  Of  that  I  am  deter 
mined,"  said  Adelina  to  herself,  with  a  petulant 
stamp. 

It  was  at  this  propitious  moment  that  the  door 
burst  open,  and  in  came  Luigi,  dragging  John  Ray 
mond  forward,  embarrassed  and  smiling. 

"There  she  is,  Doctor !"  shouted  Luigi,  joy 
ously.  "Adelina,  allow  me  to  present  Signor  Doc 
tor  Raymond." 

The  question  of  how  she  should  receive  him  was 
settled  on  the  instant.  All  her  doubts  and  misgiv 
ings  vanished  when  she  saw  his  eager,  beseeching 
face,  as  he  almost  ran  to  her,  took  her  hand,  and 
whispered,  tremblingly : 

"Adelina!" 

"Jack !" 

He  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms  then,  if 
ever  he  had  done  it  before.  But  there  never  had 
been  any  warmer  demonstration  between  them 
than  a  hand-clasp,  and  it  was  that  which  had  to 
content  him  then.  But,  she  had  called  him  "Jack." 
It  was  seldom  that  she  had  used  that  intimate  ap 
pellation  since  they  were  children  together,  and  for 
some  months  before  she  had  left  Azalia  it  had  been 
"John"  invariably.  Now,  in  the  joy  of  seeing  him 


212  THE  CLIMAX 

— a  joy  which  was  so  much  greater  than  she  had 
expected  to  feel — it  seemed  as  if  only  "Jack"  could 
come  to  her  lips.  All  the  internal  conflict  she  had 
passed  through  while  Luigi  had  gone  down  to  an 
swer  the  bell  was  wasted  energy.  John  Raymond 
Wcis  more  than  "John"  to  her  now.  He  was  "Jack." 

Did  he  comprehend  anything  of  what  was  in 
her  mind  as  she  repeated,  involuntarily,  "Jack," 
while  a  far-away,  dreamy  look  stole  into  her  gray- 
blue  eyes?  Perhaps  he  did.  He  firmly  believed  it 
possible  to  read  the  thoughts  of  another  by  a  de 
termined  concentration  of  will,  and  he  was  very, 
very  earnest  in  his  desire  to  know  what  she  was 
thinking  about  as  he  held  her  hand  and  heard  her 
call  him  by  the  old  boy-and-girl  name. 

It  was  only  for  a  few  seconds  that  they  stood 
facing  each  other,  hand  holding  hand,  but  it  was 
long  enough  for  Pietro  to  see  them  thus,  as  he  came 
reluctantly  from  the  studio,  to  speak  to  the  man 
whose  regard  Adelina  took  seriously,  whether  she 
looked  on  him  as  a  lover  or  not. 

"Here,  Pietro !  Here's  Doctor  Raymond !" 
cried  Luigi,  heartily,  oblivious  of  his  son's  angry 
confusion. 

"How  do  you  do,  Doctor?"  said  Pietro. 

John  Raymond  was  too  happy  to  notice  the 
coldness*  almost  rudeness,  of  Pietro's  manner,  and 


THE  CLIMAX  213 

seizing  his  hand  in  a  warm  grasp,  he  responded, 
cordially : 

"How  are  you,  Pietro?  I  am  very  pleased  to 
see  you  again." 

Adelina  was  already  at  the  oil-stove,  and  as 
she  put  four  eggs  into  the  boiling  water,  she  called 
out  to  Luigi  to  see  that  Doctor  Raymond  had  a 
chair  at  the  table,  and  to  sit  down  himself,  while 
she  poured  the  coffee. 

"All  right,  Adelina.  Pietro,  get  the  piano-stool 
for  yourself.  We  have  only  three  chairs,  Doctor, 
so  we  have  to  use  the  stool  when  we  have  com 
pany.  But  Pietro  is  used  to  it.  He  not  often  any 
where  else,  except  on  the  stool — eh,  Pietro?" 

Pietro  nodded,  and  as  he  brought  the  piano- 
stool,  John  and  Luigi  took  their  places  at  the  table. 
Then  Adelina,  in  a  pleasant  flutter  of  responsibil 
ity,  which  John  Raymond  thought  became  her  ex 
ceedingly,  poured  the  coffee,  keeping  an  anxious 
eye  on  the  egg  saucepan  meanwhile. 

"I  cannot  cook  more  than  four  eggs  at  a  time," 
she  said.  "The  saucepan  is  so  small.  But  I'll  put 
on  four  more  when  these  are  done,  and  we  shall 
manage  somehow." 

The  breakfast  was  a  success.  How  could  it 
be  otherwise,  with  Adelina  presiding?  That's  what 
Raymond  thought,  and  so  did  Pietro,  the  latter 


214  THE  CLIMAX 

looking  as  if  he  regarded  it  as  presumption  on  the 
Doctor's  part  to  compliment  her — as  he  did  sev 
eral  times  in  the  course  of  the  meal. 

"Well,  Jack,  and  how's  everyone  in  Azalia?" 
asked  Adelina,  when  she  found  time,  amid  her 
duties  as  hostess,  to  talk  about  something  besides 
the  breakfast. 

"She  calls  him  'Jack.'  I'd  like  to  know  why," 
was  Pietro's  mental  observation,  as  he  scowled  into 
his  coffee-cup. 

"Everybody  was  well  when  I  left,"  answered 
Raymond,  who  also  had  not  failed  to  notice  that 
she  continued  to  call  him  "Jack."  "Hundreds  of 
people  sent  their  regards  to  you.  Mr.  Treadhouse 
asked  particularly  to  be  remembered." 

"Isn't  that  the  preacher  at  the  church?"  put  in 
Luigi. 

"Yes,  the  Reverend  Thomas  Treadhouse.  You 
recollect  him,  don't  you?" 

"Si.  He  preached  fine  sermon — morning  and 
evening,  too." 

"Poor  Tommy  Tittlemouse,"  said  Adelina, 
smiling:  "More  coffee,  Jack?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  answered  Raymond. 
'Tommy  Tittlemouse'  is  Adelina's  name  for  him, 
Signer,"  he  explained,  turning  to  Luigi.  "But  he 
really  is  a  fine  man,  and  Adelina  thinks  so,  too." 


THE  CLIMAX  215 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  assented.  "But  what  a 
pity  he  has  no  sense  of  humor.  I  think  that's  why 
his  folks  thought  he'd  make  a  good  preacher." 

"It  was  a  mistake  if  that  was  their  idea,"  de 
clared  Raymond,  rather  warmly.  "I  never  knew  a 
really  good  preacher  who  did  not  possess  a  very 
acute  appreciation  of  humor.  To  be  otherwise 
would  imply  a  lack  of  understanding,  and  certainly 
that  cannot  be  charged  against  the  average  minis 
ter,  whatever  his  denomination." 

"Well,  don't  be  angry,  Jack.  I  was  speaking  of 
this  one  case  only — not  in  general,  and  you  must 
confess  that  Tommy  Tittlemouse  is  an  overpower- 
ingly  solemn  individual." 

"I  know  you  used  to  quiz  him  shamefully  when 
you  were  at  the  'don't  care'  age — about  fourteen  or 
fifteen,"  laughed  Raj^mond. 

"What  did  you  do  to  him,  Adelina?"  inquired 
Luigi,  with  an  anticipatory  grin. 

Adelina's  merry  laugh  as  a  remembrance  of 
past  fun  came  up  in  her  memory,  rang  musically 
through  the  room,  and  Pietro  didn't  know  why  it 
made  him  unhappy. 

"Well,  for  instance,  Uncle,"  said  Adelina,  "I 
tried  him  once  on  that  old  conundrum,  'Why  is  a 
tin  can  tied  to  a  dog's  tail  like  death?'  " 

"Yes,  I've  heard  it,"  interjected  Raymond. 


216  THE  CLIMAX 

"Tommy  hadn't,"  giggled  Adelina.  "He 
thought  for  a  moment — at  least,  I  suppose  he  was 
thinking — and  then  he  asked,  sepulchrally,  'Why 
is  it?  I  don't  see  any  connection  between  a  dog's 
tail,  with  or  without  a  tin  can,  and  our  mortal  end.' 
I  told  him  the  answer  was  'Because  it  is  bound  to 
occur.'  " 

"Eh?"  interrupted  Luigi,  bewildered.  "How  is 
that?  Occur?  Occur?  Oh,  I  see  now — a  cur.  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  Very  good.  Go  on,  Adelina." 

"Tommy  did  not  speak  for  nearly  a  minute. 
At  last  he  said,  still  in  that  voice  from  the  tombs 
with  which  he  always  tries  to  force  home  a  moral 
or  theological  truth,  'Quite  right,  my  child.  Death 
is  bound  to  occur.'  He  had  taken  it  all  seriously, 
without  any  idea  that  there  was  a  catch  in  it.  Of 
course,  I  giggled — I  was  only  about  thirteen — and 
next  Sunday  he  preached  a  sermon  on  the  sin  of 
frivolity  applied  to  sacred  things,  aimed  directly 
at  me,  as  I  sat  in  a  front  pew." 

"That  dog  of  his  has  a  sense  of  humor,"  re 
marked  Raymond,  with  a  dry  smile. 

"Oh,  yes,  Uncle,"  went  on  Adelina.  "I  must 
tell  you  about  Tommy's  dog.  He  is  a  ferocious  ani 
mal  to  strangers — a  bull-terrier.  Jack  believed  he 
could  tame  him  by — What  is  the  name  of  that 


THE  CLIMAX  217 

curious  power  Professor  Cooper  lectured  on  that 
night  in  the  Town  Hall,  Jack?" 

"Mental  suggestion." 

"Yes.  That's  it.  I'd  forgotten.  Mental  sug 
gestion.  Well,  Jack  applied  it  to  the  bull-terrier, 
and  when  Jack  had  him  thoroughly  tamed " 

Adelina  stopped  and  looked  mischievously  at 
John  Raymond. 

"Si?  What  then?"  queried  Luigi,  deeply  in 
terested. 

"The  dog  bit  him." 

A  storm  of  laughter  arose  at  this  unexpected 
result  of  the  experiment.  As  it  died  down,  John 
Raymond  said,  gravely: 

"Yes,  that  was  the  way  it  worked  with  the 
bull-terrier,  but  nevertheless  it  is  a  science  that 
the  world  finds  it  must  reckon  with.  Already  it 
plays  its  part  in  medicine,  and  that  part  will  ex 
tend  as  it  is  better  understood.  You  remember 
that  I  have  cured  your  headaches  several  times 
merely  by  placing  my  hands  on  your  forehead, 
Adelina?" 

"I  thought  that  was  magnetism.  I  know  you 
have  used  that  word  when  you  were  applying  the 
treatment." 

"Yes,  but  it  was  not  that  alone.  Animal  mag 
netism  is  potential  in  such  cases,  but  I  am  con- 


2i8  THE  CLIMAX 

vinced  that  mental  suggestion — meaning  that  I 
willed  the  pain  away  from  your  head — was  the  prin 
cipal  agent  in  curing  you." 

Pietro  muttered  something  under  his  breath 
which  might  have  been  "Bosh !"  But  nobody  heard 
it,  so  that  it  didn't  matter. 

"Well,  I  don't  get  headaches  now,"  declared 
Adelina.  "The  air  of  New  York  seems  to  agree 
with  me." 

"Better  than  that  of  Azalia?"  asked  Raymond. 

"I  don't  have  headaches  here,  and  I  did  there," 
she  answered,  lightly. 

"You  don't  want  to  go  back,  then?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  was  her  quick  reply.  "I  do  want 
to  go  back,  to  sing  in  the  Town  Hall,  and  show 
those  dear  ladies  of  the  Sewing  Circle,  as  well  as 
a  few  others  like  them,  that  I  didn't  come  to  New 
York  for  nothing." 

"Her  voice  have  much  improved,"  said  Luigi. 
"I  hope  one  day  it  will  be  equal  to  her  mother's. 
But  she  must  practice  a  lot,  every  day,  for  many 
months,  and  then — " 

The  good-natured  Italian  put  his  right  fore 
finger  to  the  side  of  his  nose,  as  he  often  did  when 
his  mind  was  busy,  and  John  Raymond  wished  he 
had  finished  the  sentence. 

Breakfast  was  over  by  this  time,  and  Adelina, 


THE  CLIMAX  219 

saying  she  must  dust  and  tidy  up  the  studio,  be 
cause  some  of  Pietro's  pupils  would  soon  be  com 
ing,  tripped  away,  playfully  kissing  her  hand  to 
all  three  as  she  disappeared. 

"I'll  help  you,  Adelina,"  Pietro  called  after  her, 
and  followed  her  into  the  studio. 

As  the  door  closed,  Luigi  lighted  a  cigarette 
thoughtfully,  after  offering  the  cigarette-box  to  Ray 
mond,  who  declined  it.  Luigi  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  twice.  Then  he  stopped  by  the  open  fire 
place,  in  front  of  the  young  man,  who  was  sitting 
with  his  back  to  the  table  on  which  the  breakfast 
things  still  remained. 

"Doctor,  I  want  Adelina  to  sing  for  you,"  said 
Luigi,  blowing  two  thin  columns  of  blue  smoke 
from  his  nostrils. 

"I  should  like  to  hear  her  sing." 

"I  want  you  to  hear  how  much  the  voice  it 
have  improved,  even  in  this  short  time.  When  I 
hear  it  in  Azalia  it  was  good.  I  see  its  promise. 
But  I  want  then  to  have  the  privilege  of  training  it. 
Now  I  have  for  it  great  hopes." 

"You  speak  of  her  voice  as  'it/  as  though  it 
were  a  thing  apart  from  her,"  observed  Raymond, 
jealously. 

Luigi  walked  over  to  the  piano  and  took  his 
seat  on  the  stool,  which  Pietro  had  returned  to  its 


220  THE  CLIMAX 

place,  and  there  was  the  ring  of  the  artist  in  his 
tones,  as  he  said,  impressively: 

"A  voice,  to  a  teacher,  is  an  instrument — a  vio 
lin.  So !  The  breath  is  the  bow — the  active  power 
in  the  music.  The  larynx  is  the  keyboard.  You 
comprehend?" 

Raymond  nodded. 

"But  that  is  not  all,"  went  on  Luigi.  "There 
must  be  a  soul  behind  the  voice,  and  that  is  the 
artist — the  singer.  When  Adelina  sing,  you  will 
hear." 

"I  have  heard." 

"Yes,  but  not  since  I  have  been  her  teacher," 
replied  Luigi,  with  a  touch  of  pride.  "However,  I 
have  a  particular  reason  for  asking  you  to  hear  her 
now.  I  am  not  quite  satisfied.  I  fear — " 

"You  think  she  may  not  become  a  great  singer, 
after  all?" 

Do  what  he  would,  John  Raymond  could  not 
help  saying  this  hopefully,  as  if  it  would  please  him 
should  Adelina  fail  to  realize  all  that  her  teacher 
desired  for  her. 

"I  not  know — yet,"  answered  Luigi.  "But, 
you  are  a  doctor.  When  she  sing,  I  wish  you  to 
note  something  that —  You  know  music?" 

"I  have  some  knowledge  of  it.  I  studied  vio 
lin  with  Adelina's  father  years  ago." 


THE  CLIMAX  221 

"Ah!  Then  you  will  know.  When  the  voice 
reack  the  middle  register  there  is  a  slight  loss  of 
evenness.  The  tone  do  not  balance.  I  like  to  know 
if  it  is — what  you  call? — organic." 

Luigi  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  on 
the  sunlit  street,  where  a  huckster  was  bellowing 
his  wares,  as  his  wagon  rumbled  over  the  cobble 
stones,  while  a  canary  at  an  open  parlor  window 
opposite — where  Rubinstein,  the  tailor,  Anton's 
father,  sat  cross-legged  on  a  table,  plying  his  trade 
— tried  to  drown  all  other  sounds  with  his  shrill 
bird-song. 

John  Raymond  smiled  grimly.  What  the  hon 
est  Italian  music  teacher  had  just  said  pleased  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

"The  dim,  yet  tearless  eyes,  that  speak 
The  misery  of  the  breaking  heart." 

Luigi  Golfanti  was  impatient  for  John  Ray 
mond's  professional  opinion,  as  a  medical  man,  on 
Adelina's  voice,  and,  bringing  his  reverie  at  the 
window  abruptly  to  an  end,  he  went  to  the  studio 
door  and  called  the  girl.  There  was  the  sound  of 
a  scuffle  inside,  and  then  she  came  out,  laughing. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  leaving  you,  Jack,"  she 
said.  "But  I  could  not  let  Pietro's  studio  remain  in 
such  a  disgraceful  condition  when  he  is  expecting 
a  pupil.  So  I  had  to  do  some  housecleaning  in  a 
modest  way.  And  how  do  you  suppose  he  repays 
me  for  my  care  of  his  room?  You  never  would 
guess,  I  am  sure?" 

"How?"  asked  Raymond,  seeing  that  he  was 
expected  to  say  something. 

"Why,  by  making  love  to  me.  Desperate  love, 
too.  I  stopped  his  burning  protestations  with  the 
dust-cloth  and  threatened  him  with  the  broom.  If 
T  hadn't,  I'm  afraid  he  would  have  dragged  me 
away  to  his  waiting  steed  like  young  Lochinvar, 

222 


THE  CLIMAX  223 

and  poor  Uncle  Luigi  would  have  been  left  to  take 
care  of  himself.  Pietro  would  have  had  to  get  the 
steed  from  Murphy's  livery-stable,  of  course,  but 
that  wouldn't  have  troubled  him.  He  is  the  most 
violent  suitor  I  ever  had." 

John  Raymond  did  not  like  all  this,  and  his  face 
showed  it,  while  Pietro,  following  Adelina  sheep 
ishly  from  the  studio,  went  straight  to  the  piano 
and  began  to  play  improvisations,  to  hide  his  con 
fusion. 

"Doctor  Raymond  wants  you  to  sing,  Adelina. 
Pietro  will  play  the  accompaniment,"  said  Luigi,  in 
a  businesslike  tone. 

"Do  you,  Jack?" 

"Yes.  I  have  not  heard  you  sing  since  you 
were  in  Azalia,"  he  answered,  "and  naturally  I  am 
anxious  to  hear  how  you  have  improved." 

While  he  was  speaking  she  had  gone  to  the 
piano  and  selected  an  "Even  Song,"  which  she 
placed  before  Pietro.  As  the  accompanist  played 
the  prelude,  John  Raymond  looked  at  the  young 
girl  with  a  longing  to  take  her  away  and  keep  her 
all  to  himself  which  might  have  been  apparent  to 
the  jealous  eyes  of  Pietro  had  they  not  been  fixed 
on  the  music.  Luigi  did  not  see  it,  of  course.  His 
attention  was  concentrated  in  his  pupil,  and  he  saw 
nothing  but  her  as  she  began  the  song. 


224  THE  CLIMAX 

It  was  a  tuneful  vesper  hymn,  beginning  softly 
and  in  simple  cadence,  but  rising  toward  the  end 
in  a  joyful  swell  of  melody  which  gave  full  oppor 
tunity  for  ambitious  vocalism.  Adelina  sang  it  with 
ease,  while  Raymond  listened  critically,  endeavor 
ing  to  discover  the  trifling  defect  about  which  Luigi 
had  spoken.  Whether  he  found  the  shortcoming  or 
not  he  did  not  say  at  once,  for  Adelina  turned  to 
him  as  she  finished,  obviously  hoping  that  she  had 
pleased  him.  So  he  told  her  how  much  he  had  en 
joyed  the  song,  and  said  he  would  like  to  wait  for 
another,  but  that  he  had  only  just  time  to  reach  the 
hospital  by  eleven  o'clock. 

Luigi  Golfanti  went  down  to  the  front  door 
with  him,  determined  to  know  what  the  doctor's 
opinion  was. 

"It  may  be  as  you  say,  Signor  Golfanti,"  was 
John  Raymond's  reply  to  a  direct  question.  "I  do 
not  think  I  should  have  noticed  it  if  you  had  not 
mentioned  it  to  me  beforehand.  As  it  was,  I 
thought  I  detected  a  slight  roughness  of  tone  in 
the  middle  register,  which  may  be  the  result  of 
some  abnormality  in  the  larynx.  If  that  is  the  case, 
probably  it  can  be  cured  by  a  trifling  operation." 

"An  operation?"  repeated  Luigi,  in  dismay.  "I 
don't  like  the  idea  of  operating  on  her  throat.  The 
organs  of  vocalism  are  very  delicate.  Suppose  the 


THE  CLIMAX  225 

doctor  his  knife  slip  when  he  operating,  and  he  cut 
her  so  bad  she  not  sing  at  all  any  more?" 

John  Raymond  smiled  reassuringly,  as  he  said 
there  would  be  no  danger  of  that  kind,  that  most 
likely  the  surgeon  would  not  use  a  knife  at  all.  and 
that,  if  he  did,  it  would  be  more  like  a  needle  than 
a  knife,  and  too  small  to  do  any  harm.  He  added 
that  surgeons  were  careful,  and  very  seldom  made 
slips.  Luigi  had  pictured  an  implement  like  a 
butcher-knife  going  down  Adelina's  throat,  and  he 
Avas  much  relieved  that  his  idea  had  been  all  wrong. 
He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  standing  at  the 
top  of  the  steps  and  looking  musingly  down  the 
street. 

"Could  you  perform  the  operation,  Doctor  Ray 
mond?"  he  asked,  at  last,  with  an  effort,  as  if  he 
dreaded  an  affirmative  answer. 

"I  should  hardly  like  to  undertake  it.  I  think 
it  would  be  better  to  entrust  it  to  a  throat  special 
ist.  I  have  a  friend,  Doctor  King,  who  has  had 
wide  experience  in  that  line  of  practice  and  is  a 
very  able  surgeon.  I  think  I  can  say  that,  for  me, 
he  would  do  it  free  of  charge." 

Luigi  Golfanti  brightened  up  at  this,  and  Ray 
mond  knew  that  the  question  of  expense  had  been 
troubling  him.  Luigi  thanked  Raymond  again  and 
again. 


226  THE  CLIMAX 

"When  do  you  think  the  operation  could  be 
done?"  he  asked. 

"Are  you  sure  Adelina  would  consent  to  it?" 

"She  do  anything  I  say,"  was  Luigi's  confident 
reply.  "She  know  I  would  not  tell  her  if  it  was  not 
for  her  good." 

Yes,  that  was  true.  John  Raymond  confessed 
it  to  himself.  This  comparative  stranger — this  the 
atrical  Italian — had  only  to  suggest,  and  she  would 
obey.  His  own  hold  on  her  had  slipped  away. 
There  were  others  in  whom  she  trusted  now  as  she 
used  to  rely  on  him.  She  was  no  longer  the  gentle, 
obedient  Adelina,  with  unbounded  faith  in  his  judg 
ment,  who  had  been  led  by  him  in  the  past.  He 
was  losing  her,  and  it  was  all  on  account  of  this 
singing,  which  was  drawing  her  toward  the  foot 
lights — to  a  life  in  which  he  would  not,  and  could 
not,  have  any  part.  He  was  jealous  of  her  and  the 
career  on  the  threshold  of  which  she  stood,  and  the 
pain  of  it,  which  had  become  so  drearily  familiar  to 
him,  shot  again  through  his  heart,  and  he  groaned. 
But  Luigi  Golfanti  was  waiting  for  him  to  speak, 
and  he  shook  himself  into  action. 

"I  shall  see  Doctor  King  to-day,  Signer,"  he 
said,  calmly,  "and  I  will  speak  to  him  about  the 
operation.  If  you  like,  I  will  come  this  evening 
and  tell  you  what  he  says." 


THE  CLIMAX  227 

Luigi  thanked  him  again,  with  what  Raymond 
looked  on  as  uncalled-for  effusiveness,  forgetting 
that  the  Italian  knew  nothing  of  what  had  been 
passing  in  his  mind. 

"Oh,  Doctor,  one  thing  more,"  called  out  Luigi. 

Raymond  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  steps 
and  was  about  to  walk  rapidly  away  toward  the 
hospital.  He  had  stopped  so  long  talking  at  the 
door  that  he  was  afraid  he  would  be  late. 

"Yes?" 

"There's  a  woman  in  this  house,  Mrs.  Vittorio, 
who  is  sick,  and  too  poor  to  pay  a  doctor.  She  live 
two  flights  above  us." 

"All  right.  I'll  run  up  and  see  her  this  even 
ing,"  promised  John  Raymond.  Then  he  hurried 
off. 

There  was  plenty  of  charity  in  John  Raymond's 
composition — but  not  toward  the  stage.  It  was  as 
well  that  Luigi  had  not  told  him  Mrs.  Vittorio  was 
an  actress. 

Raymond  reached  the  hospital  in  time,  after 
all.  He  made  his  round  of  the  wards,  taking  notes 
as  he  went,  witnessed  an  operation  for  appendicitis, 
assisted  in  the  amputation  of  a  leg  in  an  emergency 
case  brought  by  the  ambulance — an  ironworker 
who  had  fallen  a  few  floors  from  a  new  skyscraper 
— and  was  present  at  the  deathbed  of  a  tuberculosis 


228  THE  CLIMAX 

patient.  It  was  all  very  interesting,  from  a  profes 
sional  point  of  view,  and  he  ought  not  to  have  been 
thinking  of  anything  outside.  But  he  was.  The 
face  of  Adelina  Von  Hagen  peeped  at  him  among 
those  of  the  students  listening  to  the  lecture  at  the 
appendicitis  clinic ;  he  saw  her  hovering  about  the 
poor  fellow  whose  leg  was  cut  off,  and  she  accom 
panied  him  to  the  bedside  of  the  consumptive  who 
gave  up  the  struggle  behind  one  of  the  screens  that 
afford  merciful  privacy  to  death  in  a  big  hospital 
ward.  The  clinic,  operations  and  death  were  all 
part  of  the  daily  routine  of  the  hospital,  and  they 
did  not  affect  John  Raymond  as  they  would  a 
stranger  to  such  scenes.  So,  when  his  vagrant 
thoughts  followed  Adelina  and  brought  her  to  him, 
he  was  able  to  give  her  as  much  attention  as  he  al 
lowed  to  his  studies.  Perhaps  he  gave  her  more. 

Doctor  King  was  a  tall,  lean  man,  who  had 
been  graduated  so  long  ago  that  he  had  little  pa 
tience  with  the  pranks  of  medical  students,  and 
was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  young  men  had  no 
business  in  the  profession.  Regarded  as  one  of  the 
best  authorities  on  the  treatment  of  throat  ailments 
in  New  York,  he  was  on  the  staff  of  the  hospital 
specially  to  attend  to  such  cases,  grudgingly  giving 
an  hour  or  so  from  his  private  practice,  and  threat 
ening  every  week  not  to  come  any  more.  It 


THE  CLIMAX  229 

chanced,  however,  that  he  had  met  John  Raymond 
some  years  before  in  a  Columbus  hospital,  when 
the  young  man's  strong  common  sense  had  im 
pressed  him  favorably.  Now  that  they  had  come 
together  again  in  New  York,  Raymond  was  de 
lighted  to  find  that  the  eminent  specialist,  whom 
most  doctors  held  in  such  awe,  even  to  the  point  of 
not  daring  to  address  him,  behaved  to  him  almost 
with  cordiality. 

"Doctor  King,"  said  Raymond,  on  this  day,  "I 
have  a  case  of  laryngeal  trouble  that  I  should  like 
you  to  look  at  in  your  office,  if  you  will." 

"Who  is  the  patient?" 

"A  young  lady — a  friend  of  mine,  from  Azalia, 
Ohio,  my  home." 

"I  see!    What's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"She  sings,  and — " 

"Strained  her  vocal  cords,  and  expects  me  to 
make  her  a  new  set,  I  suppose,"  interrupted  Doctor 
King,  gruffly.  "I  don't  see  why  people  can't  have 
singing  voices  and  brains  at  the  same  time.  I'll 
look  at  the  throat,  however — for  you,  Raymond. 
Understand  that.  It  is  strictly  for  you." 

"When  will  it  be  convenient?"  asked  Ray 
mond,  meekly. 

"Let  me  see,"  grunted  Doctor  King,  taking  out 
a  red-covered  engagement-book  and  studying  it. 


230  THE  CLIMAX 

"This  is  Tuesday.  Bring  the  throat  to  me  on 
Thursday,  at  three  o'clock.  Good  afternoon." 

They  had  been  standing  in  the  hospital  lobby, 
near  the  front  door.  Doctor  King  bolted  out  of 
doers  and  into  a  waiting  motor-car.  He  was  gone 
before  John  Raymond  could  say  anything  more. 

"Queer  old  codger,"  was  the  young  man's  in 
ward  estimate  of  the  great  specialist,  "but  I  would 
not  trust  Adelina  to  anyone  else." 

Raymond  went  to  his  hotel  in  a  brown  study, 
and  he  had  hardly  emerged  from  his  sombre  reflec 
tions  when  he  presented  himself  in  the  evening  at 
the  Golfanti  apartment,  to  be  welcomed  by  Ade 
lina  and  Luigi  with  a  warmth  that  counteracted  the 
chill  exhaled  by  Pietro. 

"I  glad  you  come,  Doctor,"  said  Luigi.  "Ade 
lina  will  sing  for  you  again,  and  perhaps  you  go 
up  and  see  Mrs.  Vittorio." 

"Is  she  very  ill?"  asked  Raymond.  "What  is 
her  ailment,  do  you  think?" 

"She  lost  her  husband  recently,  Uncle  says, 
and  I  think  her  heart's  breaking,"  explained  Adelina. 

"And  she  has  hard  work  to  get  along,  too," 
added  Luigi. 

"I'll  go  up  and  see  her  before  I  go  home,"  said 
Raymond. 

"I  have  to  go  to  a  pupil  this   evening,"  an- 


THE  CLIMAX  231 

nounced  Pietro,  abruptly,  and  he  went  out,  with 
out  anyone  taking  particular  heed  of  him — as  he 
observed  with  fierce  indignation. 

"I  not  know  what  come  over  that  boy  to-day," 
remarked  Luigi,  as  the  door  banged.  "He  been 
disagreeable  ever  since  he  got  up  this  morning." 

Perhaps  Adelina  could  have  guessed  the  cause 
of  it,  but  if  she  did  she  kept  it  to  herself. 

"I  go  up  and  see  Mrs.  Vittorio.  I  tell  her  you 
coming,  eh,  Doctor?"  suggested  Luigi. 

"Very  well." 

Luigi  left  the  room,  and  Raymond  did  not  fail 
to  notice  that  he  took  with  him  a  basket  which 
contained  fruit,  and  that  there  was  a  bottle  of  wine 
hidden  under  his  threadbare  coat.  It  was  easy  to 
surmise  that  Mrs.  Vittorio  needed  something  more 
sustaining  than  medical  advice. 

Adelina  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  began 
to  run  over  the  accompaniment  of  the  "Even  Song" 
she  had  sung  in  the  morning,  humming  the  melody 
at  the  same  time.  Somehow,  she  felt  embarrassed, 
although  she  hardly  could  have  told  why.  It  may 
have  been  because  John  Raymond  was  looking  at 
her  fixedly  and  sadly.  Without  turning  her  face 
directly  toward  him,  she  was  sensible  of  his  gaze, 
and  she  wished  he  would  say  something.  He  broke 
the  silence  suddenly. 


232  THE  CLIMAX 

"Addie." 

"Yes,  Jack?" 

"You  know  that  I  love  you?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  wearily. 

"You  have  told  me  so  two  or  three  times.  I 
hope  you  don't  intend  to  make  another  formal  an 
nouncement  of  the  interesting  fact  now." 

Careless — perhaps  heartless — as  were  the 
words,  she  could  feel  that  her  cheeks  were  burning, 
and  it  made  her  angry.  She  kept  on  playing. 

"I  am  not  going  to  annoy  you  by  telling  you 
again,  Addie,"  he  replied — and  there  was  pitiful 
hurt  in  his  unsteady  accents.  "I  am  only  remind 
ing  you  of  what  you  know." 

"As  a  preamble  to  something  unpleasant.  It 
has  always  been  your  way  to  assure  me  of  your 
strong  regard  before  beginning  a  lecture.  Well,  go 
on.  If  you  are  wound  up  to  give  me  a  scolding, 
don't  keep  me  in  suspense.  I  want  to  hear  the 
worst." 

Although  she  spoke  jestingly,  there  was  an  un 
dercurrent  of  bitterness  which  gave  a  harsh  ring  to 
her  voice.  Raymond  detected  it,  and  he  was 
tempted  for  an  instant  to  keep  silent  as  he  looked 
at  her  fair  young  face,  so  distressed,  despite  the 
defiant  smile  that  curled  her  lip  and  sparkled  at  the 
back  of  her  blue-gray  eyes.  But  the  brown  study 


THE  CLIMAX  233 

into  which  he  had  plunged  as  he  left  the  hospital, 
and  which  continued  for  so  long,  had  resulted  in  a 
determination  to  say  what  he  believed  to  be  right, 
and  he  nerved  himself  to  keep  steadily  along  the 
road  blazed  for  him  by  his  conscience. 

"I  was  only  going  to  remark,"  he  said,  "that 
I  love  you  too  much  to  see  you  in  this  false  posi 
tion." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"In  the  first  place,  this  old  man,  Luigi  Gol- 
fanti,  is  not  your  uncle." 

"He  is  my  mother's  cousin.  He  was  her  friend 
— her  true  friend." 

"Perhaps  so,  but  is  it  not  perilous  to  your  good 
name  to  be  living  here,  in  these  apartments,  with 
two  single  men?  Would  you  dare  do  it  if  you  were 
in  Azalia?" 

She  made  a  gesture  which  expressed  unmistak 
ably  her  contempt  for  the  opinion  of  Azalia. 

John  Raymond  saw  it,  and  it  only  made  him 
more  determined  to  save  her,  if  he  could. 

"The  whole  thing  is  wrong,  dear,"  he  went  on. 
"You  are  blinded  to  your  danger.  See,  Addie,  I 
did  not  mean  to  repeat  what  you  seem  not  to  want 
to  hear,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  love  you,  Addie,  and 
if  heaven  had  not  gifted  you  with  this  voice  that 
has  taken  you  from  your  home  and  brought  you 


234  THE  CLIMAX 

into  a  free-and-easy  atmosphere  that  distorts  your 
view,  I  believe  I  could  have  made  you  love  me." 

He  had  taken  her  left  hand  as  it  lay  idle  on  the 
keys  of  the  piano — much  as  he  had  captured  it  on 
the  gate  that  moonlit  evening  in  Azalia  which 
seemed  so  far,  far  away  in  the  past. 

Without  withdrawing  her  hand,  she  stood  up 
and  faced  him. 

"Jack,  I  know  you  have  the  best  intentions  in 
the  world.  But — you  don't  understand.  That's 
all." 

"I'm  afraid  I  do  understand — too  well,"  he  an 
swered,  miserably. 

Thefe  was  silence  while  the  clock  ticked  per 
haps  a  dozen  times.  Then  she  asked,  quietly: 

"If  you  saw  a  friend  of  yours  hammering  his 
head  against  a  stone  wall,  what  would  you  do?" 

"I'd  try  to  make  him  stop,  I  suppose." 

"Then  tell  me  how  to  make  you  stop  hurting 
yourself  through  me.  My  mind  is  made  up.  The 
humdrum  of  married  life  would  be  impossible  to 
me.  Fate  has  taken  me  by  the  hand,  more  firmly 
than  you  are  holding  it  now,  and  I  could  not  go 
any  other  way,  if  I  would." 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  walked  to  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  but  returned  immediately  after 
ward,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  come  to  him. 


THE  CLIMAX  235 

"If,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  had  a  strange 
note  of  hopefulness,  "your  voice  should  not  prove 
so  great  as  you  expect?  Or  if  you  should  lose  it 
altogether?" 

"I  can't  suppose  anything  so  dreadful  and — so 
unlikely.*' 

"But,  if  you  should  lose  it?"  he  persisted. 
"Would  you,  in  that  case,  marry  me?" 

The  pitying  smile  that  had  been  on  her  face 
more  than  once  since  they  had  been  talking  over 
spread  it  again,  as  she  said :  "What  is  the  us£  of 
my  answering  that  absurd  question?" 

"Answer  it,  to  please  me,  won't  you?  I  am 
like  a  drowning  man  clinging  to  a  straw." 

"'Nonsense !  There  are  plenty  of  other  girls  in 
the  world." 

"Won't  you  answer?" 

"Of  course  I  will.  If  I  should  lose  my  voice, 
and  there's  no  one  else  I  like  better  than  you,  I'll 
—think  about  it." 

He  had  no  chance  to  say  whether  this  satisfied 
him  or  not,  for  the  door  opened  and  Luigi  blew 
gustily  into  the  room,  and  his  wholesome  good- 
humor  temporarily  wafted  away  all  morbid  per 
plexities. 

"I'm  ready  to  go  up  to  see  Mrs.  Vittorio,"  said 
Ravmond. 


236  THE  CLIMAX 

"She  is  asleep,  and  she  have  another  woman 
with  her,"  said  Luigi.  "Besides,  she  is  much  bet 
ter,  and  I  don't  think  you  will  have  to  trouble  about 
her,  though  I  appreciate  your  kindness  just  the 
same.* 

John  Raymond  thought  of  the  basket  of  fruit 
and  bottle  of  wine,  and  he  guessed  why  she  might 
not  need  him.  A  kindly,  charitable  neighbor  could 
do  her  more  good  than  a  professional  physician. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 
Of  Pluto,  to  have  set  quite  free 
His  half-regained  Eurydice." 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening  that  John  Raymond 
spent  in  the  Golfanti  apartments.  He  was  almost 
happy  under  the  influence  of  Adelina's  singing  and 
Luigi's  cheerful  temper.  Pietro  came  back  in  a  lit 
tle  more  than  an  hour.,  and  played  Adelina's  ac 
companiments.  While  he  was  absent  she  accom 
panied  herself.  But  she  said  she  preferred  to  stand 
up  to  sing,  so  that  she  could  send  her  voice  forth 
freely. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  were  singing  before  an  audience 
when  I  stand,"  she  explained,  "and  it  inspires  me 
to  my  best  efforts." 

John  Raymond  wished  she  had  some  other 
reason. 

"And  your  chest  is  not  cramped  when  you 
stand,  either,"  remarked  Luigi.  "The  audience  is 
nothing." 

"You  do  not  feel  any  discomfort  in  your  throat 
237 


238  THE  CLIMAX 

while  singing,  do  you?"  asked  Raymond,  in  the  dis 
passionate  tones  of  a  physician. 

"No.  But  sometimes  it  seems  as  if  I  lose  con 
trol  of  the  melody  for  an  instant  when  I  strike  a 
certain  note.  It  is  probably  only  a  fancy.  I 
doubt  whether  anyone  can  notice  it  except  Uncle 
Luigi.  He  tries  to  prevent  my  becoming  vain  by 
telling  me  that  my  middle  register  is  uneven." 

"Doctor  King,  the  famous  throat  specialist, 
wants  to  see  you  on  Thursday  afternoon,"  was  John 
Raymond's  response  to  this. 

She  looked  with  startled  eyes  from  him  to 
Luigi,  and  back  again. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that,  do  you  think?" 
"No,  it  is  nothing,  Adelina,"  Luigi  hastened  to 
assure  her.  "Only,  such  a  voice  as  yours  must  be 
taken  care  of.  It  is  so  with  all  the  great  singers 
of  the  opera.  They  have  their  own  doctors  always 
with  them,  who  spray,  and  spray,  and  spray  their 
throats  every  day.  It  is  part  of  the  business  of 
being  a  singer.  But  it  not  show  there  is  anything 
wrong.  It  only  to  keep  the  throat  in  good  condi 
tion." 

Perhaps  Luigi  realized  that  he  had  protested 
too  much  when  Adelina  got  up  from  the  piano- 
stool  without  replying,  and  went  to  her  own  room, 


THE  CLIMAX  239 

closing  the  door  after  her.  Pietro  had  not  yet  come 
home. 

"I  a  fool.  That  what  I  am !"  declared  Luigi, 
ruefully.  "She  go  now  and  wear  out  her  eyes  try 
ing  to  see  down  her  throat  in  the  mirror.  I  hope 
Doctor  King  he  not  find  anything  serious,  or  it 
will  give  her  much  misery." 

"She  will  go  to  see  him,  of  course?" 

"Si.  She  good  girl.  I  tell  her  she  go  to  Doc 
tor  King.  That  all  will  be  necessary.  She  go.  You 
will  see." 

Pietro  entered  at  this  juncture,  and,  with  a  nod 
apiece  to  Raymond  and  his  father,  sat  down  to  the 
piano. 

"Pietro,  Adelina  go  to  the  doctor  on  Thursday 
afternoon,"  said  Luigi. 

"What  doctor?"  demanded  Pietro,  fiercely, 
swinging  around  from  the  piano.  "Ray " 

"Doctor  King.     He  look  at  her  throat." 

"Oh !" 

"He  the  great  doctor  for  the  voice.  You  know 
him,  Pietro'?" 

"I've  heard  of  him.  I'm  glad  he  will  examine 
Adelina's  throat,  just  to  satisfy  her  and  you.  I 
have  never  noticed  anything  the  matter  with  it, 
myself." 

"Pietro,  you  are  a  pianist — not  a  vocal  instruc- 


240  THE  CLIMAX 

tor.  Remember  that,"  his  father  rejoined,  with  dig 
nity.  "You  not  supposed  to  know  all  the  delicate 
membranes  of  the  human  organ.  It  enough  for  you 
to  tell  when  the  piano  out  of  tune." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Pietro.  "I  don't  believe 
there  is  anything  wrong  with  her  throat — not  much, 
anyhow." 

Adelina  had  just  come  into  the  big  room  from 
her  bedroom,  and  she  overheard  Pietro's  remark. 

"I  think  Pietro  is  right,"  she  said.  "I  have 
looked  into  my  mouth  at  the  mirror,  with  the  lamp 
so  close  I  was  afraid  it  would  singe  my  eyebrows, 
and  I  cannot  see  anything.  Still,  I  should  like  to 
have  Doctor  King's  opinion.  I  am  glad  it  is  to  be 
soon — only  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Let  us  hear  you  sing,  Adelina,"  said  Pietro. 
"If  we  all  listen  hard,  we  might  find  that  uneven 
note.  If  it  is  there,  I  don't  see  how  it  can  get  away 
from  us.  It  is  like  a  'wolf  in  a  piano." 

"What  is  a  'wolf?' "  asked  Raymond.  "I  mean, 
the  kind  you  refer  to." 

"It  is  when  a  tuner  does  not  get  one  or  two  of 
the  keys  up  to  the  right  pitch,  so  that  it  throws  out 
all  the  others,"  explained  Luigi.  "Tuners  call  it  a 
'wolf,'  because  they  have  to  chase  it  up  and  down 
the  whole  keyboard  sometimes  before  they  can 
catch  it.  They  know  it's  there,  but  it  is  hard  to 


THE  CLIMAX  241 

get  hold  of  it.  Pietro  thinks  it  is  the  same  with 
the  uneven  tone  in  Adelina's  voice.  But  a  voice 
and  piano  are  two  different  instruments,  as  I  told 
him  just  now." 

"Stop  quarreling,  you  two,  and  listen  to  some 
thing  I  have  to  tell  you — something  I  have  decided 
to  do,  very  important,"  broke  in  Adelina,  suddenly, 
with  a  rippling  laugh. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Raymond. 

"Some  mischief.  I  see  it  in  her  face  and  hear 
it  in  her  laugh,"  declared  Luigi,  shaking  his  fore 
finger  at  her. 

"No,  it  isn't  mischief.  It  is  a  respectable,  con 
ventional  thing  I  mean  to  do,"  she  insisted. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"I  am  going  to  be  married." 

"Married?     Who  to?"  -roared  Pietro. 

John  Raymond  looked  at  her  half  in  apprehen 
sion,  half  in  hope,  and  Luigi  shook  his  head  as  if 
to  reprove  her  for  saying  such  a  thing.  He  said, 
sternly : 

"Oh,  that  is  foolish,  Adelina.  I  don't  believe 
it.  You  should  not  say  that.  You  young  girl,  and 
must  be  careful  how  you  talk.  It  is  not  true,  of 
course,  or  you  would  have  told  me." 

"Confound  his  insolence !"  thought  Raymond. 


242  THE   CLIMAX 

''What  right  has  he  to  think  she  makes  him  her 
confidant  in  everything?" 

"Let  me  tell  you  how  it  is,"  continued  Ade- 
lina,  demurely.  "Doctor  Raymond  has  been  lectur 
ing  me  for  living  here  with  only  Uncle  Luigi  and 
Pietro— " 

"Why,  what — '  spluttered  Luigi,  indignantly, 
while  Pietro  favored  John  Raymond  with  a  blacker 
frown  than  usual. 

"Don't  interrupt,"  she  commanded.  "The 
head  and  front  of  my  offending  seems  to  be  that 
I  am  a  single  young  woman,  living  in  the  same 
apartments  as  two  single  men.  If  I  were  married 
it  would  be  strictly  proper.  That  is  the  inference. 
You  can  all  see  that.  Besides,  I  have  two  lovers, 
each  of  whom  thinks  he  has  the  exclusive  right 
to  me." 

"Adelina!"  expostulated  Raymond. 

"Now,  I  cannot  marry  both  of  them,  so — " 

Pietro  was  leaning  forward  eagerly. 

"I  won't  take  either." 

"Then  who  is  to  be  the  happy  man?"  inquired 
Luigi,  banteringly. 

She  ran  to  Luigi,  and  placing  her  two  hands 
on  his  shoulders,  as  he  sat  with  his  back  to  the 
table,  cried,  merrily: 

"You." 


THE  CLIMAX  243 

Luigi  gasped. 

"Me?" 

"Yes.  Don't  you  see  what  a  splendid  arrange 
ment  it  will  be?  I  shall  be  Signora  Golfanti,  and 
therefore  in  my  proper  place  as  mistress  of  your 
home,  and  so  I  shall  not  have  to  lose  my  teacher. 
You  can  give  me  my  lessons  just  as  you  are  doing 
now,  and  I  will  take  care  of  my  little  stepson,  Pie- 
tro." 

Pietro  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  be 
angry  that  she  should  refer  to  him,  even  in  fun,  as 
if  he  were  a  boy,  instead  of  the  important  man  he 
considered  himself.  As  for  John  Raymond,  he  en 
tirely  disapproved  of  levity  in  connection  with  so 
serious  a  thing  as  matrimony,  and  he  fidgeted  un 
easily  in  his  chair  as  Adelina  kept  her  hands  on 
Luigi's  shoulders  and  pretended  she  was  about  to 
kiss  him. 

"Adelina,"  protested  Luigi,  "you  make  joke  of 
things  you  should  not.  When  the  time  come  for 
you  to  be  married,  there  plenty  of  young  men  fight 
for  you.  At  the  present  you  must  study  and  sing. 
We  have  Doctor  King  make  your  voice  better  on 
Thursday,  and  then  you  sing  as  I  want.  So!  But 
marry — no." 

She  turned  from  him  with  a  laughing  toss  of 


244  THE  CLIMAX 

her  head,  and  told  Pietro  to  play  the  accompani 
ment  for  the  aria,  ''Youth's  Appeal  to  Age." 

"You  have  it  there,  on  the  piano,  Pietro,"  she 
reminded  him.  "I  was  singing  it  yesterday.  It 
will  just  fit  the  present  situation." 

"What  you  mean  by  the  present  situation, 
Adelina?"  demanded  Luigi,  severely,  as  Pietro, 
having  arranged  his  music,  played  a  dramatic  pre 
lude. 

"I'll  show  you.    You  can't  escape." 

She  took  up  a  melodramatic  position  in  front 
of  Luigi,  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him  appeal- 
ingly,  and  began  to  sing,  with  much  florid  orna 
mentation,  in  the  way  of  trills,  shakes  and  brilliant 
runs,  the  following  words: 

"From  the  depths  of  my  trusting  heart,  I  love  you. 

Do  not  spurn  my  young  affection's  plea. 
If  youth  would  bow  to  the  wisdom  of  the  sage, 

Who  on  earth  shall  say  it  nay?" 

As  she  reached  this  point,  lingering  on  the  last 
few  words  with  a  tremendous  cadenza,  she  seized 
Luigi  by  the  wrist  and  dragged  him  from  his  chair, 
as  if  about  to  embrace  him. 

He  pulled  himself  away,  saying,  half  angrily, 
half  pleadingly: 


THE  CLIMAX  245 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Adelina,  but  sing.  I  love  to 
hear  it."  Then,  to  Raymond :  "Is  it  not  fine,  Doc 
tor?  What  can  be  wrong  with  that  voice?  The 
execution,  it  is  perfect." 

But  Adelina  was  not  done  with  Luigi.  Placing 
her  two  hands  over  her  heart  in  operatic  fashion, 
and  following  him  as  he  retreated  to  the  back  of 
the  grand  piano,  she  continued,  in  a  series  of  high 
notes,  clear  and  liquid  as  Tyrolean  bells : 

"I  love  you!    Really!    Dearly!    Nearly!" 

Here  she  caught  him  by  the  coat-tails,  and,  for 
the  life  of  him,  John  Raymond  could  not  help 
laughing  at  the  absurdity  of  the  performance,  al 
though  he  wished  Adelina  were  not  so  familiar 
with  Luigi.  But  she  was  at  the  height  of  another 
cadenza,  and,  carried  away  by  the  music  and  the 
opportunity  to  indulge  in  a  little  of  the  acting  of 
which  she  was  always  dreaming,  she  took  no  notice 
of  Raymond.  The  cadenza  resolved  itself  into  a 
mighty  "Oh,  say  you  love  me !"  with  a  high  D-flat 
that  made  Luigi  fairly  shout  with  joy: 

"Listen  to  that,  Doctor!  You  hear  that,  Pie- 
tro?  The  tone!  Ah!  It  was  sublime !" 

In  his  enthusiasm,  Luigfi  threw  his  arms  around 
the  girl  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  to  the  disgust 
of  John  Raymond,  while  Pietro  gave  rein  to  his 


246  THE  CLIMAX 

jealousy,  in  his  usual  way,  by  taking  it  out  of  the 
piano. 

"There,  Jack.  Uncle  Luigi  has  accepted  me, 
you  see,"  cried  Adelina,  gleefully.  "He  embraced 
and  kissed  me.  What  more  could  he  do  to  show 
that  he  means  to  make  me  Signora  Golfanti?" 

John  Raymond  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Pick 
ing  up  his  hat  from  the  side  table  where  Ade 
lina  had  place  it  on  his  arrival,  he  said,  abruptly, 
that  he  had  an  engagement,  and  must  be  going. 

"You  will  be  here  on  Thursday  afternoon,  to 
take  Adelina  to  Doctor  King's,  eh  ?"  Luigi  reminded 
him,  anxiously. 

"Certainly,  at  half-past  two  o'clock.  That  will 
give  us  plenty  of  time  to  get  to  the  doctor's  office 
by  three." 

"Si.  That's  well.  I  go,  too,  to  see  Doctor 
King,  with  Adelina,"  answered  Luigi. 

Luigi  did  not  go  down  stairs  with  John  Ray 
mond  this  time,  and  Adelina  was  looking  the  other 
way  when  he  went  out.  It  was  perfectly  clear  that 
Raymond  was  displeased  over  something. 

"Sometimes  I  think  he — that  Doctor  Raymond 
— not  care  much  about  any  of  us,"  observed  Luigi, 
reflectively,  as  he  lighted  a  cigarette.  "Eh,  Ade 
lina?" 

Adelina  did  not  seem  to  think  it  worth  while 


THE  CLIMAX  247 

to  express  an  opinion,  but  Pietro  said,  vindictively : 

"He  hates  me.  He  likes  Adelina,  but  he 
doesn't  think  she  should  be  here  with  us.  That's 
what's  the  matter  with  him." 

"Si?  Well,  maybe  Adelina  not  be  with  us 
long,  when  Signor  Valeri,  the  impresario,  he  hear 
her  sing.  He  make  her  prima  donna  just  so  sure 
he  hear  her.  Mark  that,  Pietro." 

"Unless  Doctor  King  decides  that  I  never  shall 
be  able  to  reach  the  high  places  of  the  profession. 
Doctors  can  tell,  can't  they,  Uncle?" 

Adelina  tried  to  say  this  lightly,  but  there  was 
a  catch  in  her  voice  that  perhaps  meant  fear — a 
nameless  dread  that  came  over  her  whenever  she 
thought  of  the  approaching  examination  of  her 
throat.  How  could  she  know  what  the  great  spe 
cialist  might  find? 

"Doctor  King  he  say  nothing  of  the  kind,"  an 
swered  Luigi,  hastily.  "You  practice  your  exer 
cises,  Adelina.  I  go  read  the  paper." 

He  disposed  himself  comfortably,  cigarette  in 
mouth,  with  his  back  to  the  table,  so  that  the  light 
of  the  lamp  would  shine  over  his  shoulder  on.  the 
Italian  newspaper  he  had  taken  up,  and  paid  no  at 
tention  either  to  Adelina  or  Pietro. 

Those  two  young  people  took  advantage  of 
Signor  Golfanti's  abstraction  to  indulge  in  a  low- 


248  THE  CLIMAX 

voiced  quarrel,  punctuated  by  chords  on  the  piano, 
with  Pietro  doing  all  the  talking,  while  the  girl, 
singing  her  exercises  without  a  break,  continued 
so  to  exasperate  him  by  various  head-flingings, 
shoulder-shruggings,  raising  of  eyebrows  and 
scornful  glances,  that  the  unfortunate  youth  was  as 
nearly  out  of  his  mind  as  a  swain  hopelessly  in  love 
could  be  without  becoming  actually  unsafe  to  be  at 
large. 

After  expressing  various  uncomplimentary 
opinions  of  Doctor  Raymond  and  trying  to  make 
her  say  she  did  not  care  for  that  absent  physician, 
Pietro  at  last  angrily  blurted  out : 

"You  don't  appreciate  me,  either  as  a  man  or 
musician,  Adelina.  I  don't  feel  like  sitting  here 
by  the  hour,  playing  accompaniments  for  anyone 
who  doesn't  appreciate  me." 

Still  singing,  she  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
pushed  him,  to  make  him  move.  He  got  up  from 
the  stool  in  a  huff,  and  she  took  his  place  at  the 
piano  without  missing  a  note  with  her  voice.  This 
put  the  finishing  touch  to  Pietro's  indignation  and 
resentment. 

"Play  your  old  exercises  yourself,"  he  snarled. 
"And  the  next  time  you  want  me  to  play  them,  ask 
me,  that's  all." 

He  marched  away  to  his  studio  and  slammed 


'PLAY  YOUR  OLD  EXERCISES  YOURSELF  "-Page 


THE  CLIMAX  249 

the  door  after  him,  making  Luigi  almost  swallow 

his  cigarette  and  causing  him  to  jump  up  and  shout 

after  his  son : 

"What  you  bang  the  door  so  hard  for,  Pietro?" 
But  Pietro  was  too  furious  to  answer,  even  if 

he  heard.     Adelina  kept  on  with  her  exercises. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


"  'How  dost  thou  like  this  tune?' 
'It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  love  is  throned.'  " 


Angry  and  turbulent  were  John  Raymond's 
thoughts  as  he  went  away  from  the  Golfanti  house 
hold  after  Adelina's  lyrical  love-making  to  Luigi. 
The  performance  had  been  extremely  distasteful  to 
him.  He  hated  anything  that  suggested  theatrical- 
ism,  and  she  had  been  theatrical  to  a  greater  degree 
than  he  had  supposed  would  be  possible  to  her. 
It  never  had  struck  him  so  forcibly  before  that  she 
was  completely  possessed  by  what  is  called  the 
dramatic  temperament.  He  admitted  to  himself, 
with  a  shudder,  that  she  had  gone  through  the  im 
promptu  sccna  with  a  convincing  skill  worthy  of  a 
cantatrice  before  the  footlights.  He  knew  some 
thing  about  it  too,  for,  prejudiced  as  he  was  against 
the  stage,  he  had  held — until  he  learned  of  Ade 
lina's  ambition  to  become  a  prima  donna — that  the 
opera  was  somehow  different  from  and  better  than 
all  other  stage  entertainment.  So  he  had  once  at 
tended  a  presentation  of  "Rigoletto"  in  Cincinnati, 

250 


THE  CLIMAX  251 

and  he  remembered  what  it  had  all  been  like.  Of 
course,  Adelina  had  heard,  through  her  father  and 
Luigi,  of  her  mother's  stage  methods,  and  though 
she  Hever  had  seen  a  performance  of  grand  opera 
in  her  life,  her  vivid  imagination  could  picture  it, 
and  she  knew  the  stage  "business"  of  every  part  her 
mother  had  played. 

John  Raymond  tormented  himself  about  Ade 
lina  more  than  might  have  been  expected  of  so 
generally  sensible  a  young  man,  and  certainly  he 
did  not  attain  by  his  worrying  anything  valuable. 
He  thought  about  her  during  his  hours  at  the  hos 
pital  ;  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  hotel  room  in  the  early 
evening,  trying  to  absorb  a  newly-published  and 
much-talked-of  treatise  on  psychophysics ;  as,  later, 
he  walked  about  the  ghostly,  deserted  streets  of  the 
"financial  district,"  far  down  town,  and  afterward, 
in  bed,  when  he  should  have  been  asleep.  He  was 
busy  with  a  knotty  tangle,  but  the  knots  were 
drawn  tight,  and  ever  eluded  him. 

It  was  little  wonder,  then,  that  Doctor  Ray 
mond  looked  haggard  and  worn  when  he  entered 
the  Golfanti  apartment  at  half-past  two  o'clock  on 
the  day  that  Doctor  King  was  to  be  consulted.  He 
was  pleased  when  Adelina  came  forward  and  took 
his  hand,  as  if  she  had  not  noticed  or  had  forgotten 
his  abrupt  departure  on  Tuesday  evening.  Already 


252  THE  CLIMAX 

she  had  her  hat  on,  and  he  liked  that,  too,  because 
it  indicated  that  she  knew  he  would  be  on  time. 
Perhaps  that  was  not  her  idea,  but  he  assumed  it 
was,  which  was  equally  satisfactory  to  him.  Pie- 
tro — at  the  piano,  as  usual — arose  and  bowed 
stiffly,  then  sat  down  again. 

"Hello,  Doctor !"  hailed  Luigi,  coming  from  his 
bedroom,  his  soft  hat  in  his  hand.  "We're  all  ready. 
Pietro  he  want  to  go,  too,  but  Anton  Rubinstein 
come,  and  he  must  have  his  lesson." 

Raymond  was  relieved  to  hear  this,  for  he 
would  have  objected  decidedly  to  taking  Pietro 
with  them.  One  savage  look  at  the  irascible  Doc 
tor  King,  such  as  Pietro  would  be  sure  to  shoot  in 
his  direction  as  soon  as  he  touched  Adelina  would 
cause  an  explosion,  and  probably  result  finally  in 
the  doctor's  refusal  to  look  at  the  throat  at  all. 

"We'd  better  start,"  said  Raymond.  "Doctor 
King's  office  is  in  Thirty-fifth  street,  and  it  will 
take  us  nearly  half  an  hour  to  get  there.  I  saw  him 
at  the  hospital  this  morning,  and  he  warned  me 
not  to  be  late.  He  is  too  busy  to  tolerate  unpunc- 
tuality." 

"There's  that  Anton  Rubinstein  now,"  grum 
bled  Pietro,  jumping  up  from  his  stool  as  he  heard 
a  bell  tinkle  on  the  outside  door  of  the  studio. 

Before    Luigi,    Adelina    and    Raymond    could 


THE  CLIMAX  253 

leave  the  room  Pietro  came  back  from  the  studio 
with  a  dirty  scrap  of  letter-paper  .in  his  fingers. 

''What  that,  Pietro?"  asked  his  father. 

"A  note  from  Mrs.  Rubinstein.  I  can't  read 
it." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  his  father,  taking  the 
paper  from  him.  Then,  as  he  looked  at  it,  he  con 
tinued:  "I  see.  It's  Deutsch.  Read  it  for  us,  Ade- 
lina." 

"My  German  is  useful  sometimes,  you  see, 
Jack,"  she  laughed,  as  she  glanced  over  the  note 
and  read :  '''  'Mem  mann  hat  das  geklimper  schon 
gans  satt.  Bitte  lernen  unseren  Anton  den  Merry 
Widow  Waltz  spielen.' " 

"What  a  twister,  eh,  Doctor?"  said  Luigi,  with 
a  wry  face.  "What  it  mean  in  Italian?" 

"I'd  better  translate  it  into  English,  I  think, 
Uncle,"  replied  Adelina.  "Mrs.  Rubinstein  wants 
her  son  to  learn  the  'Merry  Widow  Waltz.'  That's 
all." 

"He  may  learn  it  in  the  course  of  ten  years, 
if  he  studies  hard,"  growled  Pietro,  as  he  took  back 
the  note.  "To  think  that  I  am  called  on  to  degrade 
myself,  my  music,  my  art,  to  knock  the  'Merry 
Widow'  waltz  into  that  thick  head.  One,  two, 
three — one,  two,  three." 

"You    £0   and   teach   him,    Pietro,    and   not   be 


254  THE  CLIMAX 

foolish,"  admonished  Luigi,  sharply.  "His  father 
a  good  tailor,  and  he  work  for  us  cheap.  Besides, 
he  pay  fifty  cents  each  for  that  boy's  lesson.  And 
we  need  the  money,"  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

"Bah!  Blood  money!"  ejaculated  poor  Pietro, 
bouncing  into  the  studio  in  a  frame  of  mind  that 
boded  a  stormy  forty-five  minutes  for  Anton. 

"That  boy  of  mine  he  have  the  artistic  temper 
ament  all  right,"  observed  Luigi,  looking  thought 
fully  at  the  studio  door. 

Luigi  repeated  the  observation  afterward,  as 
he,  Adelina  and  Raymond  rode  toward  Doctor 
King's  office  in  a  Broadway  car. 

"He  has,  indeed,"  agreed  Adelina,  with  rather 
more  enthusiasm  than  Raymond  thought  necessary. 
"His  'Song  of  a  Soul'  is  beautiful.  He  has  not 
quite  finished  it,  but  there  is  enough  to  show  what 
it  will  be." 

"Did  he  write  words  for  it,  too?"  asked  Ray 
mond. 

"No.  Mrs.  Vittorio  did  that,  and  they  fit  the 
music  beautifully." 

"I  thought  perhaps  Pietro  had  produced  the 
lyric,  as  well  as  the  music.  He  seems  to  be  a  sort 
of  Admirable  Crichton." 

Adelina's  quick  look  of  surprise  at  John  Ray 
mond  as  he  made  this  rather  envious  speech  did  not 


THE  CLIMAX  255 

escape  him,  and  he  knew  that  she  considered  it  un 
worthy  of  him. 

There  was  no  loss  of  time  when  once  they 
were  in  Doctor  King's  consulting-room.  It  was 
striking  three  as  he  told  Adelina  to  take  her  hat  off 
and  sit  down  in  one  of  those  luxurious,  leather- 
cushioned  operating  chairs  which  mock  the  terror- 
stricken  patient  by  giving  ease  to  the  body  while 
the  mind  is  in  torment.  A  lamp  with  a  powerful 
reflector  was  attached  by  a  movable  nickel-plated 
bracket  to  one  arm  of  the  chair,  and  Doctor  King 
adjusted  it  so  that  the  light  almost  blinded  her. 
He  placed  a  round  mirror  with  a  hole  in  the  centre 
on  his  forehead,  by  means  of  a  strap  that  passed 
around  his  head.  Then  he  gave  her  a  touch  of  nau 
sea  by  sinking  the  chair-seat  unexpectedly  a  few 
inches  by  means  of  a  lever  at  the  back  which  he 
worked  with  his  foot. 

"Comfortable?"  he  asked,  grimly. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  while  her  heart  beat  so 
loudly  that  she  believed  she  could  hear  it. 

"Keep  quiet,  then." 

He  thrust  a  glistening  instrument,  like  a  minia 
ture  metal  golf  club,  into  her  mouth  and  looked. 
Adertna  felt  as  if  she  were  choking,  but  that  did  not 
disturb  Doctor  King. 

On   the   mantelpiece  was   an   uncompromising 


256  THE  CLIMAX 

square  clock  of  black  marble.  John  Raymond, 
Luigi  and  Adelina  counted  every  second  as  it  was 
ticked  off  in  a  deep,  lugubrious  monotone.  The 
stern  old  doctor  was  taking  no  notice  of  the  clock. 
His  attention  was  concentrated  on  the  delicate  or 
gan  in  her  throat,  upon  which  the  strong  reflector 
sent  a  point  of  white  light. 

Nearly  a  minute  elapsed  before  he  took  away 
the  instrument  with  which  he  had  been  holding 
down  her  tongue,  and  told  her  she  might  breathe 
for  a  few  minutes. 

She  had  been  breathing,  in  a  way,  but  it  was  a 
relief  to  be  able  to  exercise  her  lungs  to  their  full 
capacity  a  dozen  times,  while  Doctor  King  dipped 
his  golf  club  into  some  antiseptic  liquid  in  a  glass 
and  wiped  it,  as  he  regarded  her  with  an  expres 
sion  that  gave  no  key  to  his  thoughts. 

"Now,  again,"  he  grunted,  as  he  saw  that  she 
had  rested  enough  to  bear  a  renewal  of  the  ordeal. 

Once  more  the  mirror  was  adjusted,  and  he 
forced  down  her  tongue  unconcernedly,  as  he  di 
rected  his  point  of  light  here  and  there  in  her 
throat.  Luigi  softly  rubbed  his  hands,  damp  with 
anxiety,  one  over  the  other,  while  John  Raymond's 
eyes  never  left  the  girl's  face.  When,  at  last,  Doc 
tor  King  moved  back  for  the  second  time,  allowing 


THE  CLIMAX  257 

Adelina  to  breathe  at  will,  it  was  to  John  Raymond 
that  he  spoke. 

"Doctor,"  he  said,  "I  find—" 

The  two  physicians  moved  away  to  the  win 
dow,  and  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  inaudible  to 
Adelina  and  Luigi.  They  could  see  that  the  older 
man  was  explaining  something  to  the  other,  who 
nodded  from  time  to  time,  but  without  showing 
either  elation  or  dismay  in  his  calm  professional 
face. 

"Doctor  King  finds  that  a  slight  operation  is 
required,"  Raymond  told  them,  as  the  consultation 
ended.  "He  has  explained  to  me  the  nature  of 
the  ailment,  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  convey  it  to 
you  in  untechnical  terms.  I  should  strongly  advise 
that  the  operation  be  performed  at  once.  Doctor 
King  is  willing  to  do  it,  and  he  says  it  will  be  all 
over  in  less  than  ten  minutes.  It  will  not  be  at  all 
painful,  Adelina.  A  local  anaesthetic  will  prevent 
your  feeling  it  at  all. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  a  little  pain,"  declared  Ade 
lina. 

"There  is  one  thing  we  must  not  forget  to  tell 
the  young  lady,"  interposed  Doctor  King,  "and  that 
is  that  she  must  not  speak  for  a  week  afterward — 
not  a  word." 

"That  will  be  a  test  of  feminine  endurance,  in- 


258  THE  CLIMAX 

deed,"  said  Adelina,  smiling.  "But  I  shall  be  equal 
to  it,  I  hope." 

"Then  I'll  go  ahead,"  was  the  short  response  of 
the  surgeon.  "Let  me  show  you,  Doctor." 

Thrusting  his  instrument  into  Adelina's  mouth 
in  the  casual  manner  of  an  entomologist  exhibiting 
an  impaled  butterfly  in  a  cabinet  to  some  fellow- 
collector,  Doctor  King  requested  Raymond  to  look. 

"See  it,  Doctor?"  he  asked,  focussing  the  re 
flected  light  on  the  spot  where  he  had  found  the 
defect. 

"Yes,"  answered  Raymond,   coolly. 

"Very  well.  That  is  what  I  am  going  to  treat," 
announced  the  specialist,  spraying  cocaine  into 
Adelina's  throat  with  as  much  indifference  to  her 
opinion  of  it  as  if  he  had  been  sprinkling  a  lawn. 

"I  suppose,  Doctor,"  put  in  Luigi,  anxiously, 
"there  is  no  doubt  that  the  operation  will  be  a  suc 
cess?" 

"Not  much  doubt — about  one  in  a  thousand,  I 
should  say,"  replied  Doctor  King,  carelessly,  over 
his  shoulder. 

As  he  had  promised,  the  operation  was  com 
pleted  within  ten  minutes,  and  half  an  hour  after 
ward,  Adelina,  with  a  handkerchief  held  to  her 
mouth  to  keep  out  the  cold,  sat  between  John  Ray 
mond  and  Luigi  on  a  car,  going  home.  Pietro  was 


THE  CLIMAX  259 

at  the  front  door  when  they  reached  the  house,  and 
his  anxiety  made  him  forget  his  usual  coldness  to 
Raymond.  He  was  glad  to  see  them  back,  with 
Adelina  looking  none  the  worse  for  her  experi 
ence. 

"Did  it  hurt  you,  Adelina?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"Adelina  not  allowed  to  speak.  Don't  ask  fool 
question,  Pietro,"  commanded  his  father. 

"She  must  not  use  her  vocal  cords  in  any  way 
for  seren  days,"  explained  Raymond.  "They  must 
have  a  little  time  to  recover  from  the  shock  that  is 
unavoidable  even  with  such  a  slight  operation  as 
this  has  been.  I  shall  look  at  the  throat  every  day, 
to  make  sure  there  are  no  complications." 

"You  not  expect  there  will  be  those — what  you 
call?—" 

"Complications?  No,  Signer  Golfanti.  I  do 
not.  But  there  is  always  the  possibility.  That  is 
why  I  shall  examine  the  throat  daily  until  the  week 
has  expired." 

They  had  been  going  up  stairs  while  talking, 
and  as  they  got  to  the  big  room,  Adelina,  throwing 
off  her  hat,  dropped  upon  the  piano-stool  and  be 
gan  fingering  the  keys. 

"I  would  not  play,  if  I  were  you,  Addie.  You 
might  forget  yourself  and  begin  to  sing,"  warned 
Raymond. 


260  THE  CLIMAX 

She  arose  obediently,  while  Pietro  secretly 
execrated  the  insolence  of  this  doctor  from  Ohio, 
who  took  it  on  himself  to  tell  her  what  she  must  and 
must  not  do.  Like  most  persons  in  love,  especially 
when  they  have  little  hope  of  their  passion  ever 
being"  returned,  he  was  ready  to  quarrel  with  any 
hint  of  proprietorship  by  another. 

"I  will  come  in  to-morrow  evening,  and  look 
at  the  throat,"  continued  Raymond.  "After  all,  a 
week  is  not  long." 

"Isn't  it?  If  you  were  a  woman,  you  might 
have  a  different  opinion,  Doctor,"  remarked  Luigi. 
with  a  chuckle.  "I  have  been  married,  and  I  never 
knew  my  wife  to  keep  her  tongue  still  for  a  week 
in  all  her  life." 

It  was  hard  for  Adelina  not  to  sing,  or  even  to 
speak.  She  had  found  that  out  already,  in  just  the 
short  time  that  she  had  been  home  from  the  doc 
tor's.  But  with  a  clenching  of  her  teeth,  she  put 
the  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  use  her  voice  be 
hind  her,  and  when  John  Raymond  went  out,  his 
last  glimpse  of  her  was  as  she  began  her  prepara 
tions  for  supper  with  all  her  usual  cheerfulness. 

That  evening,  when  Luigi  had  settled  down, 
with  a  cigarette,  to  read  his  paper,  and  Adelina,  at 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  was  sewing,  Pietro  es 
tablished  himself  at  the  piano,  resolved  to  complete 


THE  CLIMAX  261 

the  melody  which  had  first  come  to  him  as  a  frag 
ment  in  that  dewy  wood  in  Azalia,  and  to  which 
he  had  since  given  the  title  of  "The  Song  of  a  Soul," 
at  this  one  sitting,  or  know  the  reason  why. 

"This  is  an  awfully  bum  light,"  he  complained, 
as  he  fiddled  with  the  lamp  on  the  piano.  "But  I 
don't  care  for  that  if  I  can  get  this  music  the  way 
I  want  it." 

With  a  pencil  in  his  mouth — save  when  he  was 
using  it  to  jot  down  or  alter  a  note  on  the  music- 
paper  in  front  of  him — Pietro  ran  off  vagrant 
strains,  with  runs,  chords  and  rippling  arpeggios  as 
accompaniment.  Adelina  listened  intently,  and 
Luigi,  looking  up  from  his  paper  now  and  then, 
gave  sympathetic  ear  to  the  efforts  of  his  son.  It 
was  hard  work.  Anyone  could  see  that,  as  Pietro 
repeatedly  snatched  the  pencil  from  his  lips,  hastily 
put  down  a  few  notes,  and  then,  after  trying  the 
measure  for  a  second  time,  scratched  them  out  and 
put  down  others.  It  seemed  as  if  it  never  would 
come  right. 

"I  hope  you  won't  bust  the  piano  with  your 
'Song  of  a  Soul,'  Pietro,"  said  Luigi,  when  his  son, 
after  a  long  run,  thundered  a  bass  chord  which 
threatened  such  a  catastrophe. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  just  now,  father,"  pleaded 
Pietro,  piteously.  "I  almost  had  it  then." 


262  THE  CLIMAX 

"What  you  think  of  it,  Adelina?"  asked  Luigi. 

She  had  placed  a  small  pad  of  white  paper  on 
the  table  before  her,  with  a  pencil.  She  pointed  to 
her  mouth,  to  remind  him  that  she  must  not  speak, 
and  wrote  on  the  pad:  "He  will  get  it,  and  I  shall 
sing  it  when  I  am  allowed  to  use  my  voice." 

She  tore  off  the  top  sheet  and  handed  it  to 
Luigi,  who  was  so  delighted  that  he  had  to  carry 
it  around  to  the  piano  to  show  to  Pietro,  who  turned 
to  look  gratefully  at  Adelina  ere  he  resumed  his 
composing. 

"I  believe  he'll  get  it,  Adelina.  You  are  right," 
was  Luigi's  own  comment,  as  he  returned  to  his 
chair  and  newspaper. 

Adelina  sewed  on,  and  Pietro,  squaring  his 
shoulders,  as  if  for  a  supreme  effort,  played  again 
the  melody  he  had  sent  to  her  in  Azalia,  but  which 
was  still  only  the  "fragment"  he  had  called  it  then. 
He  had  written  more,  but  nothing  that  he  could  do 
now  seemed  to  be  in  the  same  spirit,  and  he  had 
wondered  whether  the  original  was  some  fugitive 
inspiration  which  he  never  would  be  able  to  catch 
again. 

"I'll  read  over  all  the  words,"  he  said  to  him 
self.  "Perhaps  that  will  help  me..  Let  me  see. 
Where  are  they?  Oh,  yes.  Here!" 

He  dug  up  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  mass  of 


THE  CLIMAX  263 

music  on  a  low  stand  by  his  side,  and  read  aloud 
from  it  the  stanza  which  had  been  written  for  him 
by  Mrs.  Vittorio,  as  follows: 

"  'Every  soul  hath  its  song — 

Its  melody  divine, 
Rising  to  ecstasy, 

And  so  hath  mine. 
Just  let  me  sing  my  song  divine, 

Or  I  shall  die  of  sorrow.'  " 

"What  that,  Pietro?"  questioned  Luigi,  who 
had  been  listening. 

"The  'Song  of  a  Soul/  confound  it!"  was  the 
short  reply. 

"It  seems  to  confound  you,  Pietro — that  'Song" 
of  a  Soul,'  "  observed  Luigi.  "But  keep  on.  Don't 
give  up.  Writing  music  is  like  making  a  horse 
shoe.  It's  the  steady  hammering  that  tells." 

"Horse-shoe!"  growled  Pietro.  "And  you  a 
musician!" 

He  kept  on,  alternately  playing  and  writing, 
for  another  half-hour,  while  Luigi  and  Adelina  pur 
sued  their  respective  occupations  in  silence,  both 
listening  to  the  young  man's  struggle  for  the  strains 
he  wanted.  Suddenly,  as  he  finished  writing 
rapidly,  with  nervous  fingers,  several  measures,  he 


264  THE  CLIMAX 

waved  his  pencil  over  his  head,  and  shouted,  ex 
ultantly  : 

"I  have  it!  I  have  it!  Oh!  Adelina!  If  only 
you  could  sing  it!" 

She  ran  to  him  and  leaned  over  his  shoulder, 
scanning  what  he  had  written.  Then  she  pointed 
to  the  piano-keys  and  to  him,  telling  him,  mutely, 
to  play  it  for  her. 

"Play  it  all  through,  Pietro,"  called  out  Luigi, 
from  his  place  at  the  other  side  of  the  table.  "Let's 
hear  what  you  have  done.  Play  it,  my  son." 

Willingly  enough,  Pietro  obeyed.  His  prac 
ticed  fingers  swept  the  keys,  and  the  completion  of 
the  melody  he  had  sought  so  long — ever  since  that 
fragrant  morning  in  Azalia,  when  the  birds  and  the 
whispering  leaves  gave  him  the  first  haunting 
strains — rang  out  in  a  wild  burst  of  harmonic  pas 
sion.  "The  Song  of  a  Soul"  was  born. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

•*  Tis  good  tho'  music  oft  hath  such  a  charm, 
To  make  bad  good ;  and  good  provoke  to  harm." 

It  did  not  seem  such  a  very  long  week,  after 
all,  notwithstanding  a  popular  impression  that  no 
woman  could  hold  her  tongue  for  that  period  of 
time  unless  she  was  gagged.  Adelina  did  not  mind 
it  much.  She  always  had  her  pencil  and  little  pad 
of  paper  when  she  wanted  to  communicate  with 
Luigi  or  Pietro,  and  she  never  forgot  that  she  must 
not  speak.  For  hours  she  was  alone,  while  they 
were  away,  visiting  their  pupils,  and  during  their 
absence  the  pianos  were  always  closed,  lest  she 
might  inadvertently  sit  down  to  sing.  This  appre 
hension  was  more  Luigi's  than  her  own.  Her  great 
ambition  was  ever  in  her  mind.  Had  she  been  con 
tent  to  be  an  ordinarily  good  singer,  the  operation 
on  her  throat  would  not  have  been  necessary.  But 
she  had  resolved  to  become  as  famous  as  her 
mother,  if  her  natural  gifts  would  permit,  and  to 
enable  her  to  reach  the  heights  on  which  she  had 
set  her  hopes  she  would  have  gone  through  a 
great  deal  more  inconvenience  than  she  had  been 

265 


266  THE  CLIMAX 

subjected  to  in  Doctor  King's  chair.  It  was,  then, 
extremely  improbable  that  she  would  be  careless  in 
carrying  out  the  instructions  on  the  fulfilment  of 
which  the  ultimate  success  of  the  treatment  might 
depend. 

She  never  even  spoke,  much  less  sang.  It  was 
not  difficult.  She  knew  the  deaf-and-dumb  alpha 
bet,  and  she  found  plenty  of  people— tradesmen  and 
others — with  whom  she  could  communicate  by  this 
means.  She  taught  it  to  Pietro  one  evening,  to 
divert  his  mind  when  he  was  trying  more  persist 
ently  than  usual  to  make  love  to  her.  Not  that  it 
helped  matters  much.  He  learned  the  deaf-mute 
language  quickly,  but  used  it  generally  to  get  on 
the  old  tiresome  topic  of  his  adoration,  until  she 
wished  she  had  not  given  him  this  new  way  of 
annoying  her.  So  she  told  him,  on  her  pad  of 
paper,  that  if  he  knew  how  idiotically  absurd  he 
looked  trying  to  be  sentimental  with  his  fingers,  he 
never  would  do  it  again.  After  that  he  addressed 
her  only  on  the  pad.  Then  she  pretended  she  could 
not  read  his  writing.  But  his  heart-broken  look 
was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  was  obliged  to  re 
lent,  telling  him  that  his  penmanship  was  bad  only 
when  he  scrawled  too  hurriedly.  All  this  amused 
her  and  helped  to  pass  the  time,  and  the  days  flew 
by  faster  than  she  had  hoped. 


THE  CLIMAX  267 

John  Raymond  came  every  evening  and  made 
a  professional  examination.  On  the  third  day  of 
the  week  he  brought,  in  a  black-leather  bag,  the 
necessary  apparatus  for  spraying  her  throat  with  a 
mixture  prepared  by  Doctor  King  with  his  own 
hands,  and  in  which  Raymond  had  the  greatest  of 
faith.  There  was  also  a  circular  reflector,  to  be 
strapped  on  the  forehead,  such  as  Doctor  King  had 
used,  and  a  smaller  one,  of  peculiar  shape,  which 
Raymond  called  a  "throat-mirror." 

"You  are  not  going  to  perform  another  opera 
tion,  eh?"  asked  Luigi,  somewhat  fearfully,  as  he 
saw  these  ominous  articles. 

"No,  unless  you  call  spraying  the  throat  an 
operation.  It's  as  painless  as  taking  a  glass  of 
water,"  replied  Raymond. 

He  used  the  spray  then  and  every  day  there 
after,  and  as  Adelina  never  complained,  Luigi  pre 
tended  to  be  satisfied. 

So  the  week  dragged  along,  day  by  day,  until 
the  evening  on  which  Adelina  was  to  be  allowed  to 
speak — and  to  sing.  It  had  seemed  like  a  month  to 
the  girl.  The  original  intention  had  been  that  she 
should  go  to  Doctor  King's  office  at  the  end  of  the 
week.  But  four  days  after  he  had  performed  the 
operation  a  cable  message  summoned  him  to  Ber 
lin  as  consulting  surgeon  in  a  difficult  and  im- 


268  THE  CLIMAX 

portant  case,  the  patient  being  a  royal  personage. 
So  it  happened  that  he  was  on  the  high  seas,  in  one 
of  the  new  five-day  "greyhounds,"  when  the  time 
came  to  restore  Adelina  to  speech.  Before  depart 
ing,  however,  he  had  entrusted  her  case  to  Doctor 
Raymond,  giving  him  instructions  in  writing. 

"That's  the  way  with  doctors,"  grumbled  Pie- 
tro,  on  the  arrival  of  the  important  seventh  day, 
when  Raymond  explained  this  to  them  all.  "They 
don't  care  what  becomes  of  their  patients.  They 
just  go  away  and  leave  them  to  die.  It's  murder. 
That's  what  I  call  it." 

Luigi  was  shocked  at  this  language  in  the 
presence  of  Raymond. 

"What  you  mean,  Pietro?  What  you  know? 
Nothing.  A  doctor  he  have  to  go  away  when  he 
sent  for,  same  as  you  or  me.  Doctor  King  he  gen 
tleman.  Doctor  Raymond  know  all  about  Adelina, 
and  he  take  care  of  her.  Besides,  there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  her.  All  she  have  to  do  is  talk. 
Doctor  Raymond  can  hear  her  do  that  as  well  as 
Doctor  King.  You  ask  pardon  of  Doctor  Raymond. 
You  must,  when  you  insult  a  gentleman." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  insult  Doctor  Raymond  or 
anyone  else,"  protested  Pietro,  humbly.  "I  am 
anxious  for  Adelina,  that's  all.  So  is  Doctor  Ray 
mond,  I  know.  I  apologize,  of  course." 


THE  CLIMAX  269 

John  Raymond  waved  his  hand  and  laughed 
good-humoredly. 

"Don't  mention  it,  Pietro.  I  know  your  solici 
tude  for  Adelina's  welfare.  We  are  all  anxious  to 
be  assured  that  she  has  quite  recovered.  We  shall 
soon  know." 

"In  ten  minutes,  eh?"  asked  Luigi. 

"Hardly  so  soon  as  that,"  corrected  Raymond. 
"But  I  will  make  an  examination  and  see  what  it 
looks  like.  My  instructions  from  Doctor  King  are 
explicit.  I  have  them  here." 

He  took  from  his  note-book  a  small  sheet  of 
paper  and  read  from  it  aloud : 

"Examine  the  throat.  If  there  are  no  signs  of 
inflammation,  spray  it,  and  the  patient  may  speak. 
After  five  minutes,  spray  the  throat  again.  If 
everything  is  all  right,  the  voice  should  be  clearer 
and  stronger  than  ever." 

"If  everything  is  all  right?"  snapped  Pietro. 
"Why,  there  isn't  any  doubt  of  that,  is  there,  Doc 
tor  Raymond?" 

"Of  course  not,"  interposed  Luigi,  with  convic 
tion.  "Don't  be  fool,  Pietro.  Doctor  King  he 
say  on  that  paper  the  voice  will  be  clearer  and 
stronger  than  ever." 

"He  said  it  should  be,"  Raymond  reminded  him. 

"All  the  same  thing.     It  will  be.     I  know  the 


2;o  THE  CLIMAX 

voice.  Have  I  not  trained  it  for  weeks?  It  is  splen 
did.  Magnificent !  It  have  always  been  so !  The 
trifle  uneven  quality  I  speak  to  you  about,  that  is 
nothing.  She  would  have  been  great  singer  if  that 
unevenness  been  left  alone.  Now,  if  it  not  any  bet 
ter,  she  still  be  able  to  sing." 

"Yes,"  said  Raymond,  slowly.  "But  it  is  well 
always  to  be  prepared  for  disappointment.  Doctor 
King  told  me  there  was  one  chance  in  a  thousand 
that  her  voice  would  fail  altogether  if  it  were  not 
improved." 

"What?  Do  you  mean  that  she  might  not  be 
able  to  sing  at  all?"  almost  shrieked  Pietro. 

"Hush,  Pietro.  Don't  be  a  fool,"  commanded 
Luigi.  "One  chance  in  thousand,  he  said.  Well, 
what  that?  Nothing.  Doctor  King  he  say  that  it 
might  fail  only  to  mean  it  couldn't  be.  Eh,  Doc 
tor?" 

"There  is  nothing  absolutely  sure  in  surgery. 
That's  what  he  meant,  I  think,"  answered  Ray 
mond.  "Still,  Doctor  King  is  one  of  the  most  emi 
nent  throat  specialists  in  the  world.  You  can  see 
that  is  so,  or  he  would  not  have  been  called  to  Ger 
many  now.  How  does  the  throat  feel,  Adelina?" 

She  was  about  to  speak,  but  Raymond  raised 
his  hand  warningly,  and  she  smiled  an  apology. 

"Write  it,"  he  directed. 


THE  CLIMAX  271 

She  wrote  the  word  "Dry"  on  her  pad. 

"Dry,  eh?  Well,  we'll  look  at  it  and  see." 

It  was  with  even  more  tenderness  than  usual 
that  John  Raymond  placed  her  in  a  chair  by  the 
table,  and  then  took  Pietro's  lamp  from  the  piano, 
to  supplement  the  light  of  that  on  the  table. 

"Will  you  hold  this  lamp,  Signor?" 

"Si.    Where  I  stand  vwth  it?" 

"I  will  show  you,"  answered  Raymond,  as  he 
put  on  his  forehead-reflector  and  raised  the  girl's 
chin,  so  that  he  could  look  straight  into  her  mouth. 

"I  am  glad  the  time  have  come  for  her  to  speak 
— and  sing,"  remarked  Luigi  who  found  it  hard  to 
keep  his  tongue  quiet.  "She  have  good  news  yes 
terday.  Signor  Antonio  Valeri.  I  sing  with  him 
long  time  ago.  He  sing  with  Adelina's  mother,  too. 
Now  he  impresario.  He  make  Aclelina  sing  for  him 
one  day — before  she  go  to  Doctor  King — and  he  say 
he  take  her  in  his  company  to  Havana  and  South 
America.  It  good  engagement." 

"So  I  should  think." 

Raymond  said  this  so  composedly  that  Adelina 
looked  surprised,  and  then  relieved.  She  had  half 
feared  some  outburst.  But  he  was  carefully  ar 
ranging  the  reflector  on  his  forehead  with  one  hand, 
while  he  used  the  other  to  guide  Luigi  with  the 
lamp.  He  seemed  to  be  simply  the  steady-pulsed 


272  THE  CLIMAX 

surgeon,  deep  in  the  delicate  work  he  had  to  do, 
and  nothing  else.  But  just  then  his  hand  chanced 
to  touch  her  cheek,  and  she  felt  his  fingers  icy  cold. 
He  sprayed  her  throat,  and,  laying  the  atomizer  on 
the  table,  took  out  his  watch. 

"You  can  put  the  lamp  down,  Signer.  We 
have  to  wait  five  minutes." 

But  Luigi  would  not  put  the  lamp  out  of  his 
hand. 

"No.  I  hold  it,"  he  insisted.  "Isn't  it  grand 
for  Adelina  she  go  with  Signer  Valeri?  She  always 
want  to  go  on  the  stage.  She  will  have  only  small 
parts  in  Havana.  But  when  she  go  to  South  Amer 
ica  she  sing  Leonora,  Carmen,  Margherita,  Am- 
neris — and  Elsa  and  Brunhilda,  if  Valeri  put  on 
Wagner  opera." 

Adelina  looked  appealingly  at  Luigi,  but  he  did 
not  understand  that  her  glance  conveyed  a  prayer 
to  him  to  change  the  subject.  He  thought  she  was 
only  deprecating  his  boastful  tone  on  her  behalf. 

"I  tell  the  truth,  Adelina,"  he  went  on,  with 
well-intentioned  obstinacy.  "You  can  sing  Wag 
ner.  Brunhilda's  music  is  always  heavy,  but  you 
will  sing  the  Wagner  roles,  like  you  sing  Italian. 
Your  voice  always  have  power.  It  will  be  the 
more  strong  now.  Ah!  We  all  will  be  proud  of 
you  when  the  audience  jump  and  yell  with  joy, 


THE  CLIMAX  273 

and  throw  the  flowers,  and  the  jewels  from  women's 
necks  and  arms,  and — Oh !  I  have  seen  it  with  your 
mother  many  times,  and  it  will  be  so  with  you. 
Won't  it,  Doctor?" 

"It  must  be  tiresome  to  hold  that  lamp,  Sig- 
nor.  We  have  three  minutes  yet,"  said  Raymond, 
his  eyes  on  his  watch. 

"No     I  like  to  do  it.     When  Adelina  she  go 

away,  I  go  with  her.  I  shall  be  stage  manager  of 
the  company.  Signor  Valeri  he  like  me." 

"And  I  have  to  remain  behind,  alone,"  com 
plained  Pietro. 

John  Raymond  glanced  swiftly  at  Adelina,  but 
she  showed  no  concern  that  Pietro  would  not  be 
with  her  if  she  left  New  York.  At  least,  he  need 
fear  no  rival  in  this  ill-tempered  boy. 

"The  five  minutes  are  up,"  he  announced  at 
last,  as  he  put  the  watch  in  his  pocket.  "I  will  use 
the  spray  again.  The  light,  please,  Signor." 

Adelina  had  not  spoken  yet.  Raymond  had 
thought  it  better  for  her  to  keep  silence  until  he 
had  sprayed  the  throat  a  second  time.  So,  as  he 
had  not  told  her  she  could  speak,  she  had  not  done 
so.  She  had  kept  quiet  for  a  week,  and  five  minutes 
more  would  not  matter,  she  reflected.  He  used  the 
spray  and  then  said,  quietly: 

"You  may  speak  now." 


274  THE  CLIMAX 

"Thank  you." 

They  were  her  first  words  for  a  week,  and 
surely  an  expression  of  gratitude  to  the  young  doc 
tor  who  had  tried  to  give  her  all  the  benefit  that 
science  had  at  its  command  was  the  most  grace 
ful  thing  that  could  have  come  from  her  lips  at 
such  a  tmie. 

"When  she  sing?"  eagerly  inquired  Luigi. 

"I  think  it  would  be  advisable  for  her  to  wait 
five  minutes  or  so,"  was  Raymond's  answer.  "Doc 
tor  King's  instructions  say  that  she  may  sing  as 
soon  as  the  throat  has  been  sprayed  the  second  time 
if  everything  is  all  right.  But  it  can  do  no  harm 
to  put  off  the  test  for  a  few  minutes." 

"Very  well.  I'll  wait,"  said  Adelina,  resign 
edly.  "But  I  am  so  anxious  to  try  my  new  voice." 

"So.  It  will  be  a  new  voice,"  chirped  Luigi. 
"A  fine  voice!  A  great  voice!  Eh,  Doctor?" 

"I  hope  so." 

John  Raymond  walked  to  the  window  and 
gazed  out  listlessly.  The  sun  had  been  gone  for 
two  hours,  and  the  dark  street,  dolefully  illumined 
here  and  there  by  flickering  gas-jets  in  the  mean 
little  stores,  and  by  a  street-lamp  at  the  corner 
where  the  saloon  was  driving  its  usual  brisk  even 
ing  trade,  was  not  inspiriting.  A  group  of  boys 
stood  outside  the  grocery,  talking  noisily.  They 


THE  CLIMAX  275 

were  planning  a  warlike  visit  to  a  rival  "gang"  in 
the  next  street,  and  their  strident  cries  came  up  to 
him  in  a  depressing  cacophony.  Rubinstein,  the 
tailor,  was  sewing,  in  his  favorite  froglike  attitude, 
in  his  shop-window.  A  woman  was  coming  up  the 
cellar  steps  below  Rubinstein,  with  a  ten-cent 
bucket  of  coal,  and  a  laboring  man,  in  muddy  trous 
ers,  fissured  shoes  and  a  blue  flannel  shirt,  carried 
along  the  street  a  tin  pail  containing  beer,  his  grimy 
face  wearing  the  anticipatory  convivial  expression 
common  to  his  kind  when  "rushing  the  growler." 

An  itinerant  candy  merchant,  with  many-col 
ored  cheap  confections  in  separate  compartments 
of  his  flat  push-cart — the  whole  carefully  covered  by 
glass,  to  protect  its  contents  from  marauding 
youngsters — came  swiftly  down  the  thoroughfare, 
having  been  chased  off  Sixth  avenue  by  a  police 
man.  The  roar  of  a  passing  train  on  the  elevated 
railway  mingled  momentarily  with  the  other 
sounds,  dying  away  grumblingly  as  rapidly  as  it 
had  obtruded  itself. 

A  maple  tree,  stunted,  but  sturdy  in  spite  of 
its  being  cramped  in  a  narrow  yard  at  the  side  of 
the  saloon,  shook  a  shower  of  yellow  leaves,  like  a 
benison,  on  the  black  roof  of  an  old  shed  so  dilapi 
dated  that  It  looked  as  if  it  might  crumple  into 
ruins  under  their  weight.  The  yard  was  called  by 


276  THE  CLIMAX 

the  saloon-keeper  a  "summer  garden,"  and  even  on 
this  rather  chilly  autumn  evening  a  man  and  woman 
were  hobnobbing  there  in  maudlin  converse  over 
"schooners"  of  beer. 

John  Raymond  could  have  described  every  de 
tail  of  the  sordid  panorama  a  week,  a  month,  or  a 
year  afterward,  but  at  this  time  he  did  not  know 
that  he  had  seen  anything  of  it.  He  was  think 
ing  of  something  else.  If  Adelina  should  find 
that  her  voice  had  become  all  that  she  and  Luigi 
hoped,  what  would  she  do?  It  was  a  question 
already  answered.  She  would  join  this  opera  com 
pany,  with  Signer  Valeri,  and  go  out  of  his  life  en 
tirely.  Once  let  her  feel  the  glamor  of  the  stage, 
and  how  hopeless  it  all  would  be  for  him.  He 
never  doubted  that  she  would  be  a  popular  singer — 
perhaps  a  great  one.  The  same  public  that  had  made 
an  idol  of  her  mother  (the  same  in  the  abstract,  al 
though  different  in  its  actual  individuality),  would 
welcome  her.  The  incense  of  applause  would  be  in 
her  nostrils  and — poison  her.  Yes,  he  was  sure  that 
that  would  be  its  effect.  She  could  not  be  of  the 
stage  and  remain  the  sweet,  pure  girl  he  had 
kno\vn.  It  never  struck  him  that  he  might  be  mis 
taken  in  his  estimate  of  stage  people  as  a  class.  He 
would  have  denied  indignantly  that  he  was  preju 
diced.  Azalia  regarded  all  "play-actors"  as  irre- 


THE  CLIMAX  277 

sponsible  ne'er-do-wells.  He  had  heard  his  father 
say,  more  than  once,  that  they  were  "naturally  the 
children  of  Beelzebub."  The  Azalia  point  of  view 
was  his  own,  plus  the  unreasoning  abhorrence  of 
the  theatre  he  had  inherited  from  his  father.  Add 
to  all  this  the  fact  that  John  Raymond  was  madly 
in  love  with  Adelina  Von  Hagen,  and  it  was  no 
wonder  his  thoughts  were  agonizing  as  he  stood  at 
this  window,  looking  out  upon  the  dark  street.  But 
could  he  not  prevent  the  sacrifice?  Was  it  not 
possible  for  him,  as  a  doctor  and  a  student  of  ad 
vanced  metaphysics,  to  interpose  some  influence 
which  would  save  her,  in  spite  of  herself?  Could 
he  not,  perhaps,  employ  the  mental  suggestion  at 
which  she  had  scoffed,  to — " 

"Jack,  aren't  the  five  minutes  up?" 
It  was  Adelina  who  had  interrupted  his  reverie. 
"Yes,"  he  answered.     "You   may  try  to   sing 
now." 


"Nought  but  a  blank  remains,  a  dead,  void   space, 
A  step  of  life  that  promised  such  a  race." 

Adelina  started  when  John  Raymond  came 
from  the  shadows  at  the  window  into  the  light  of 
the  lamp  which  had  been  replaced  on  the  piano  by 
Pietro.  His  face  had  changed  in  some  strange  way. 
It  was  drawn  and  white,  and  the  fixed  glare  in  his 
eyes  frightened  her.  He  walked  with  a  slow,  me 
chanical  step,  and  she  saw  that  his  hand  shook  as 
it  rested  on  the  top  of  the  piano. 

She  had  been  chilled  by  his  hollow  tone, 
when,  at  the  window,  he  had  told  her  she  might  try 
to  sing.  It  had  not  expressed  the  hopefulness  she 
had  expected.  Yet  she  was  sure  he  was  as  anxious 
to  hear  what  effect  the  operation  had  had  upon  her 
voice  as  were  Luigi  and  Pietro.  No  doubt  it  was 
that  anxiety  which  had  affected  him.  He  felt  the 
responsibility,  of  course.  It  was  he  who  had  ad 
vised  the  operation,  and  he  had  been  in  charge  of 
her,  as  a  medical  man,  since  Doctor  King  had  gone 
away. 

Adelina  never  had  been  a  doctor,  but  she  could 
278 


THE  CLIMAX  279 

understand  what  a  strain  it  must  be  to  feel  that  on 
one's  skill  and  care  depended  the  life  of  a  patient. 
And  singing  was  her  life.  No  matter  how  strongly 
opposed  he  might  be  to  her  going  on  the  stage, 
he  would  have  to  accept  the  inevitable.  In  the 
meantime,  his  pride  in  his  profession  naturally 
would  outweigh  all  other  considerations,  and  he 
would  rather  see  her  adopt  a  career  he  disliked 
than  that  his  judgment  as  a  physician  should  be 
at  fault. 

These  thoughts  rushed  through  the  girl's  brain 
so  rapidly  that  Luigi  hardly  noticed  how  she  stood 
still  for  a  few  moments,  looking  over  Pietro's 
shoulder  while  he  played  the  opening  movement  of 
"The  Song  of  a  Soul."  She  seemed  to  be  only 
reading  the  notes  on  the  music  before  her.  Luigi 
brought  her  to  herself  by  asking: 

"Adelina,  are  you  ready?" 

"Yes,  Uncle." 

"Bttono!  Now  we  will  hear.  Doctor  Ray 
mond  he  want  to  know  what  the  operation  it  do  for 
you,  eh?" 

"Yes.  This  is  the  critical  moment,"  assented 
Raymond,  still  in  the  hard  tone  in  which  he  had  an 
swered  Adelina  when  he  stood  at  the  window. 

"Critical?  It  is  not  critical.  We  know  what 
she  is  going  to  do.  We  know  that  she  will  sing 


280  THE  CLIMAX 

better,"  rejoined  Luigi,  impatiently.  "Sing,  Ade- 
lina." 

"Very  well.  Uncle." 

All  the  doubt  had  gone  from  her  voice,  and  she 
smiled  at  Raymond  and  Luigi  alternately,  as  she 
stood  at  the  piano,  ready  to  begin. 

"Now,  Pietro,  your  'Song  of  a  Soul.'  I  told  you 
I  would  sing  it  first." 

The  delight  in  Pietro's  face  made  her  glad  she 
had  told  him  this.  Although  she  cared  nothing 
about  him  in  the  way  he  would  have  liked,  she 
sympathized  with  him  in  his  music. 

"Here  are  the  words,"  he  said,  fumbling  among 
the  music  on  the  stand  beside  him.  "I  have  them 
on  a  sheet  of  paper  somewhere." 

"Never  mind  finding  it,  Pietro,"  she  cried.  "I 
know  the  lines  backward.  I've  been  learning  them 
for  a  week."  Then,  with  a  rapt  expression  on  her 
face  that  thrilled  Pietro  through  and  through,  she 
recited :  "  'Just  let  me  sing  my  song  divine,  or  I 
shall  die  of  sorrow.'  " 

Raymond  was  gazing  at  her  with  a  strange  in- 
tentness  unlike  any  look  she  ever  had  seen  on  his 
face  in  all  the  years  they  had  known  each  other.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  trying  to  grasp  her  inmost 
thoughts,  so  that  he  might  bend  them  to  his  will. 
She  strove  to  put  aside  this  impression,  as  ridicu- 


THE  CLIMAX  281 

lous,  but  it  came  back,  and  it  was  only  when  she 
resolutely  looked  away  from  him  that  she  could 
shake  off  the  feeling  of  there  being  something  un 
canny  and  sinister  in  his  regard. 

"Jack,"  she  broke  forth,  impulsively,  "I  want 
to  thank  you  for  all  you've  done — and  are  doing." 

"Don't  thank  me,  Addie,"  he  answered,  in  a 
strained,  unsteady  tone. 

"But  I  must.  I  know  it  must  be  terribly  hard 
for  you  to  do  this,  because,  although  it  means  ev 
erything  to  me,  my  everything  doesn't  include  you 
— except  as  my  very  good  friend,  Jack." 

He  took  her  two  hands  and  looked  intently  into 
her  face,  as  he  said,  slowly: 

"Addie,  suppose  that,  after  all,  you  couldn't?" 

"What?"   she   asked,  wonderingly. 

But  he  waved  his  hand,  with  a  smile,  to  sig 
nify  that  it  was  nothing  of  any  consequence,  and 
she  turned  to  the  piano  as  Pietro  played  the  prelude 
of  the  "Song  of  a  Soul." 

"Here!  What  are  going  to  do?"  broke  in 
Luigi,  authoritatively.  "You  must  not  sing  the 
song  at  the  beginning.  First  come  the  scales — the 
exercises,  to  warm  up  the  vocal  cords." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Luigi!"  protested  Adelina.  "I 
promised  Pietro  his  song  should  be  the  first." 


282  THE  CLIMAX 

"Pouf!  I  say  no.  First  come  the  exercise. 
Pietro,  the  scale  on  page  seventeen." 

Argument  would  have  been  useless,  as  both 
Adelina  and  Pietro  well  knew.  So  the  young  man 
opened  the  exercise  book  at  page  seventeen  and 
struck  a  chord. 

"Si.     Now,  sing,"  ordered   Luigi. 

John  Raymond  leaned  over  the  piano,  and  his 
strained  look  might  have  pierced  her  through  had 
it  suddenly  taken  on  material  substance.  It  was 
like  a  rapier.  Perhaps,  in  his  mentality,  he  was 
using  it  as  such  a  weapon.  Adelina  did  not  even 
glance  toward  him,  but  she  was  conscious  of  his 
steady  gaze — how,  she  could  not  have  explained. 
She  only  knew  it  was  there.  Luigi  saw  it,  but  he 
attributed  it  to  nervous  anxiety.  He  had  that  feel 
ing  himself.  It  would  have  been  strange,  indeed, 
if  Doctor  Raymond  had  not  evinced  agitation  in 
some  form  or  another. 

Pietro  sounded  the  chord  again,  and  then  ran 
an  ascending  octave.  The  girl  sang  the  first  note, 
missed  the  next  six,  but  ended  clear  and  full  on  the 
last. 

"That  is  well,"  said  Luigi.  "The  tone  is  fine. 
Now  run  the  scale." 

"I    was   trying   to   do    so,"    answered   Adelina, 


THE  CLIMAX  283 

with  a  smile.     "The  week  of  idleness  has  put  me 

out  of  practice." 

John  Raymond's  eyelids  nearly  closed,  so  that 
his  eyes  were  two  narrow  slits,  glistening  in  the 
light  of  the  lamp  like  those  of  a  wolf  about  to 
spring. 

"You  did  not  take  the  breath,  Adelina,"  sug 
gested  Luigi.  "Remember  what  I  always  tell  you, 
that  you  cannot  get  the  tone  without  the  wind. 
Now !  Again !" 

She  tried,  but  this  time  her  failure  was  not  to 
be  mistaken.  She  could  not  even  sound  the  final 
note,  and,  with  a  pale  and  frightened  face,  she 
turned  to  Luigi,  as  if  for  help,  gasping: 

"Uncle,  I  can't  sing.  My  throat  seems  to  be 
asleep." 

Never  did  John  Raymond's  gaze  remove  itself 
from  her  face. 

"Your  throat  wake  up  directly.  Play,  Pietro, 
play!"  cried  Luigi,  his  voice  shrill  with  sudden  ter 
ror.  "There  must  be  some  mistake.  The  doctor 
he  say  the  voice  would  be  better  than  ever.  Sing, 
Adelina !  Play,  Pietro  !" 

Once  more  did  she  make  an  effort  that  was 
pitiful  in  its  desperation,  but  Pietro,  with  the  piano, 
left  her  far  behind.  Her  ear  was  true,  and  she  knew 
what  she  was  trying  to  do.  But  her  vocal  organs 


284  THE  CLIMAX 

seemed  to  be  paralyzed,  and  all  they  would  produce 
were  a  few  feeble  sounds  that  shocked  her  as  much 
as  they  did  her  horrified  teacher  and  Pietro. 

"Adelina,  what  is  the  matter?"  shrieked  Luigi. 

"I  don't  know,  Uncle,"  she  moaned. 

"Try  again,"  urged  Pietro.     "Once  more." 

But  Adelina  only  shook  her  head. 

Luigi  walked  upon  and  down,  holding  his  head 
in  his  hands,  while  Adelina,  like  a  statue  of  hope 
less  grief,  stood,  with  parted  lips,  looking  wildly  at 
the  exercise,  wondering  what  it  all  meant.  She  had 
not  realized  the  awfulness  of  it  yet.  Luigi  stopped 
in  front  of  Raymond,  who  had  never  moved  since 
Adelina  began  to  sing,  and  still  glared  at  her  as  if 
he  could  not  look  away. 

"Doctor  Raymond,  can't  you  do  something? 
Spray  the  throat  again.  Here!  I  get  the  things," 
cried  Luigi,  desperately. 

The  heartbroken  old  man  ran  to  the  table, 
where  the  black  bag,  containing  the  apparatus,  still 
stood,  and  had  taken  out  the  atomizer  and  reflector 
before  Raymond  said  to  him,  in  pitying,  but  hope 
less  accents : 

"It  would  do  no  good.  You  remember,  Doctor 
King  said  that  there  was  one  chance  in  a  thousand 
of  the  voice  being  lost  altogether  as  the  result  of 
the  operation.  One  in  a  thousand." 


"ONE   IN  A  THOUSAND."— Page 


THE  CLIMAX  285 

At  last  she  comprehended.  With  a  stifled 
groan,  as  of  some  helpless  creature  of  the  forest 
who  had  received  a  mortal  blow,  too  severe  to  per 
mit  even  of  a  full  cry  of  pain,  Adelina  staggered 
to  a  chair  and  with  an  elbow  on  the  table,  sat  star 
ing  into  vacancy.  Pietro  was  by  her  side  in  an  in 
stant,  she  pushed  him  away,  as  she  repeated,  mur- 
muringly,  like  one  talking  in  sleep : 

"One  in  a  thousand1!  One  in  a  thousand!" 
For  a  few  minutes  she  sat  quite  still.  Pietro, 
hurt  that  she  would  not  let  him  attempt  to  console 
her,  was  glowering  at  Raymond,  who  did  not  see  it. 
Raymond's  eyes  never  left  Adelina.  He  was  watch 
ing  her  with  the  sort  of  expression  his  face  had  worn 
that  morning  in  the  hospital,  as  he  contemplated  a 
patient  afflicted  with  a  rare  and  incurable  disease. 
He  had  been  deeply  interested  in  the  case,  and 
while,  as  a  humane  man,  he  had  observed  with 
commiseration  the  writhings  which  denoted  awful 
agony,  he  had  not  failed  to  recognize  their  value  to 
the  physician  as  diagnostic  manifestations.  The 
fact  that  the  patient  could  not  recover  was  only 
a  pathological  incident.  Perhaps  he  regarded  Ade- 
lina's  incurableness  with  the  same  philosophical  in 
difference.  And  perhaps,  if  it  had  been  possible  to 
probe  to  the  bottom  of  his  mind,  as  he  stood  there, 
with  his  back  to  the  piano,  there  might  even  have 


286  THE  CLIMAX 

been  found  satisfaction.  It  is  doubtful  whether 
John  Raymond,  himself,  could  have  told  what  his 
feelings  were  just  then. 

Luigi  had  been  at  the  window,  looking  out  upon 
the  same  sort  of  scene  as  had  been  presented  to 
John  Raymond  half  an  hour  before,  and,  like  the 
doctor,  he  had  not  consciously  seen  anything.  Now, 
as  a  sudden  thought  came  to  him,  he  went  over  to 
Adelina,  and  placing  a  hand  soothingly  on  her 
bowed  head,  he  whispered : 

"Adelina!" 

"Yes,  Uncle?" 

His  sympathetic  voice  was  the  only  thing  that 
could  arouse  her,  and  John  Raymond  noted  it  with 
fierce  jealousy. 

"Don't  give  way,  'carissima.  Your  voice  may 
come  back  to-morrow.  It  is  sometimes  so.  I  have 
known  it  with  myself.  On  some  night  I  could  sing, 
and  others  I  could  not.  It  will  be  so  with  you.  Do 
I  not  say  right.  Doctor?" 

John  Raymond  shook  his  head  decisively. 

"In  such  a  case  as  hers  there  is  no  hope.  It 
would  be  heartless  in  me  to  say  anything  but  the 
truth.  Don't  let  her  ever  try  to  sing  again.  It 
might  cause  her  to  lose  even  her  speaking  voice." 

Luigi  started  in  dismay.     Then  he  stared  into 


THE  CLIMAX  287 

the  impassive  countenance  of  the  doctor,  as  if  to 
gather  hope.  But  there  was  none  there." 

"Mustn't  she  try  again?"  he  faltered.  "Just 
once  ?" 

"She  may  try  now,  while  I  am  here,  if  she 
likes,"  replied  Raymond.  "Then,  if  any  harm  comes 
from  it,  I  shall  be  at  hand.  But  don't  let  her  sing 
afterward.  If  she  does,  I  can't  answer  for  the  con 
sequences." 

Rising  from  her  chair  suddenly,  the  girl  went 
toward  Raymond,  a  wild,  unnatural  fire  in  her  eye. 

"Jack,"  she  pleaded,  "do  something  for  me. 
You're  a  doctor.  Say  something.  Does  this 

mean "  The  words  she  would  utter  seemed  to 

be  frozen  in  her  throat.  "Tell  me.  Am  I  the  one  in 
the  thousand?" 

"Heaven  help  me,  yes,"  answered  Raymond, 
in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

"Heaven!"  she  cried,  in  an  agony  of  despair, 
"What  is  heaven?  Why  does  the  Omnipotent 
Power  which  rules  us  punish  me  so?  What  have  I 
ever  done  to  deserve  this?  Have  I  neglected  my 
talents?  Have  I  sinned  so  grievously?  Where  is 
the  divine  mercy?  Is  this  it?  One  in  a  thousand! 
I  don't  believe  it!  Play,  Pietro,  your  'Song  of  a 
Soul' — and  my  soul  will  sing  it!" 

Pietro  played  a  few  chords,  and  she  essayed 


288  THE  CLIMAX 

to  sing  the  melody,  but  in  vain.  She  could  only 
speak  the  words.  There  seemed  to  be  no  power 
in  her  voice. 

"Every  soul  hath  its  song — it's  melody  divine !" 
she  intoned,  striving  with  all  her  might  to  reach 
the  notes  as  they  were  written.  Then  she  gave  it 
up. 

"I  can't  sing  it  now,  Pietro.  But  I  will  start 
all  over  again.  I'll  spend  a  lifetime  in  practice. 
Yes,  I'll  start  again." 

She  dropped  into  her  chair,  with  that  awful 
look  that  had  been  on  her  face  before.  Luigi  tried 
once  more  to  encourage  her. 

"Adelina,  maybe  the  voice  come  back  again — 
to-morrow — next  week.  Yes.  Eh,  Doctor?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Raymond. 

"You  do  know,"  interrupted  Adelina.  "You  do 
know.  You  are  trying  to  spare  me,  as  you've  been 
doing  ever  since  you  looked  into  my  throat.  I 
can't  sing.  It's  all  over — everything." 

"There  are  other  things  in  life,"  hinted  Ray 
mond. 

"Not  for  me,"  she  moaned,  with  the  positive- 
ness  of  despair. 

Luigi  jerked  his  head  significantly  toward  the 
doo?,  looking  at  Raymond,  who  walked  to  the  side 
table  for  his  hat.  He  hesitated  momentarily,  as  if 


THE  CLIMAX  289 

to  go  to  Adelina  to  bid  her  good  night.  But  she 
never  looked  up — although  she  must  have  known 
that  he  was  about  to  go — and  with  a  silent  farewell 
to  Luigi,  John  Raymond  went  out. 

Pietro  had  been  mechanically  straightening  out 
a  pile  of  sheet-music,  and  seemed  not  to  notice  Ray 
mond's  departure.  Luigi  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Does  your  throat  feel  different  from  what  it 
was  before  we  went  to  Doctor  King's,  Adelina?" 
asked  Luigi,  after  a  few  seconds  of  reflective  purl 
ing. 

"Yes,  when  I  sing." 

Her  voice  was  hard  and  her  eyes  were  quite 
dry. 

"Hum!  When  you  sing?  That's  all  that 
counts." 

Luigi  waggled  his  doleful  head,  so  that  the  gray 
side  locks  fell  over  his  eyes  grotesquely,  and  he 
choked  on  a  mouthful  of  cigarette-smoke. 

"Maladetta!  I  can't  smoke,  either,"  he  mut 
tered.  "But  I  not  go  under  any  operation  for  that." 

"What  did  you  say,  father?"  asked  Pietro,  in 
curiously,  his  hands  busy  with  the  sheet-music  and 
his  thoughts  on  the  pathetic  girlish  figure  huddled 
up  at  the  table. 

"Nothing." 

An  effect  of  the  calamity  was  that  they  asked 


290  THE  CLIMAX 

and  answered  trivial  questions  without  caring  any 
thing  about  them,  or  expecting  an  answer,  as  peo 
ple  will  when  there  is  death  in  the  house.  It  was 
a  vent  for  their  nervousness.  Father  and  son  both 
were  in  such  a  strain  that  it  seemed  as  if  something 
in  them  must  break  unless  they  found  an  outlet 
for  their  sorrow  in  some  way.  So,  when  Luigi  had 
said  "Nothing,"  he  lighted  another  cigarette  and 
smoked  voluminously  through  mouth  and  nose, 
while  Pietro  resumed  a  hissing  of  the  melody  of 
his  "Song  of  a  Soul"  under  his  breath,  which  he 
had  been  doing,  unconsciously,  ever  since  he  had 
begun  to  paw  over  his  sheet-music.  From  Adelina 
came  not  a  sound. 

"Is  it  dark  outside?"  asked  Pietro,  presently. 

Luigi  did  not  reply  for  nearly  a  minute,  as  if 
he  needed  time  to  consider  the  answer  to  such  a 
tremendous  query.  Then  he  said,  solemnly: 

"Yes,  except  where  the  lamps  are." 

Neither  noticed  the  fatuity  of  the  question  and 
answer.  Luigi  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette,  and  Pie 
tro  hissed  "The  Song  of  a  Soul"  from  the  begin 
ning. 

Suddenly,  a  great  sob  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
room,  followed  by  another  and  another,  and  then 
the  girl,  raising  her  head  from  the  table,  covered 


THE  CLIMAX  291 

her  face  with  her  hands,  and  let  the  sobs  storm 
forth  as  they  would. 

Ah,  those  blessed  tears!  Adelina  wept  as  if 
her  heart  would  rend  apart.  But  there  never  can 
be  a  broken  heart  where  tears  flow.  Luigi  Golfanti 
knew  this  so  well  that  he  smiled  as  he  walked 
quietly  over  to  his  son,  and,  touching  him  on  the 
shoulder,  said,  in  a  low  tone: 

"She  safe  now,  Pietro.   Come.    We  go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  XX 

"One  indeed  I  knew 
In  many  a  subtle  question  versed, 
Who  touch'd  a  jarring  lyre  at  first, 
But  ever  strove  to  make  it  true." 

As  soon  as  John  Raymond  found  himself  alone 
in  his  room  that  night  he  sat  down  and  pored  over 
a  certain  passage  in  a  book  that  lay  open  on  the 
table.  The  running  head  at  the  top  of  the  page 
was  "Mental  Suggestion."  He  pressed  his  hand  to 
his  forehead  while  he  read,  as  if  to  help  him  to 
comprehend.  Once  he  got  up  and  paced  the  room, 
deep  in  thought.  Then  he  sat  down  again,  to  read 
and  re-read  the  paragraph  that  held  him.  He 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  draw  from  it  some  informa 
tion  about  which  he  was  uncertain,  and  yet  hope 
ful,  for  he  put  his  finger  on  a  line  now  and  then, 
and  at  such  times  one  might  have  thought  he  was 
endeavoring  to  hold  down  a  fact  by  main  strength 
until  he  had  grasped  its  full  significance.  Especi 
ally  did  he  do  this  with  the  last  few  sentences. 
Something  was  there  that  gave  him  a  sort  of  grim 
satisfaction.  The  paragraph  which  he  read  over 

so  many  times  was  as  follows : 

292 


THE  CLIMAX  293 

"It  is  well  established  in  many  minds  that  a 
person  of  strong  will  often  can  control  the  thoughts, 
and  even  the  acts,  of  another,  if  the  conditions  are 
favorable.  The  scientific  nature  of  these  favorable 
conditions  has  never  been  determined,  because  they 
vary  in  different  subjects.  In  general,  the  test  is 
more  likely  to  be  successful  when  the  subject  has 
faith  in  the  power  of  the  operator,  and  is  well  dis 
posed  or  friendly  toward  him.  Mental  suggestion 
has  been  employed  beneficially  by  physicians,  and 
doubtless  is  often  a  factor  when  not  even  the  doc 
tor  himself  suspects  it.  Unfortunately,  the  influ 
ence  can  also  be  exerted  to  the  detriment  of  the 
subject,  as  is  occasionally  seen  at  public  exhibitions, 
when  the  operator  causes  persons  from  the  audience 
to  go  through  absurd  antics  or  temporarily  to  lose 
some  of  their  faculties.  A  subject  may  be  told  that 
he  cannot  speak,  sing  or  move,  and  unless  his  will 
is  much  stronger  than  that  of  the  operator,  he  will 
find  that  actually  he  cannot  utter  a  sound  or  stir  a 
muscle  until  released  from  the  strange  power  that 
has  held  him.  One  of  the  phases  of  the  phenomena 
of  mental  suggestion  which  is  of  particular  interest 
is  that  the  will  of  the  stronger  mind  may  control 
the  volition  of  the  subject  from  afar  and  long  after 
the  active  experiment  has  been  finished." 

"That  is  clear  enough,"  muttered  Raymond,  as 


294  THE  CLIMAX 

he  went  over  the  closing  sentence  for  the  fifth  time. 
"It  does  not  say  that  it  is  always  so,  however,  nor 
even  that  it  is  usual.  That  word  'may'  might  mean 
anything.  "The  will  of  the  stronger  mind  may  con 
trol  the  subject  from  afar  and  long  after — '  In 
other  words,  it  doesn't  always.  These  professors  are 
always  so  cautious  when  they  venture  into  print. 
Afraid  of  what  other  professors  may  say,  I  sup 
pose." 

He  closed  the  book  and  put  it  on  a  shelf  with 
a  few  other  volumes,  all  relating  to  his  profession, 
which  composed  his  library  in  New  York,  and  stood 
in  front  of  the  dresser,  contemplating  a  photograph 
in  a  frame.  It  was  that  of  a  girl,  and  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say  what  girl,  especially  when  it  is 
told  that  he  put  the  picture  to  his  lips  ere  he  turned 
away  and  prepared  to  go  to  bed.  He  had  looked 
quickly  about  him  as  he  put  the  photograph  down, 
as  if  half  ashamed  of  so  sentimental  an  act.  And 
yet  he  had  locked  his  door,  and  his  window-blind 
was  tightly  closed. 

"I  wonder  what  she  is  doing?"  he  asked  of  the 
darkness,  as  he  dropped  upon  his  pillow.  "Poor 
little  girl !  Asleep,  I  hope.  I'm  afraid  I  never  shall 
forget  her  face  when  she  realized  that —  It  was 
cruel.  Yes,  it  was  cruel.  But  when  a  canker  is  in 
the  tissues,  the  only  possible  cure  is  to  cut  it  out. 


THE  CLIMAX  -95 

And  to  think  that  I  had  to  be  the  surgeon!  But 
there  was  no  one  else.  Ah,  well !  She'll  get  over  it 
in  time,  and  then — then 

If,  through  the  blackness,  he  saw  her  coming 
down  a  garden-path  in  the  sunlight,  in  bridal  gar 
ments,  holding  out  to  him  a  handful  of  royal-purple 
pansies,  the  vision  may  have  been  a  continuation 
of  his  speculations  where  they  had  ceased  to  be 
audible.  Or  it  may  have  been  a  dream.  What  did 
it  matter? 

When  Raymond  went  to  the  Golfanti  apart 
ment  the  next  evening,  Luigi,  knowing  he  was  com 
ing,  met  him  at  the  front  door.  He  wanted  to  speak 
to  the  doctor  before  he  went  up  stairs. 

"When  we  got  up  this  morning  she  have 
breakfast  ready,"  said  Luigi.  "She  look  white,  and 
her  eyes  red.  But  she  laugh — oh,  how  she  laugh! 
Pietro  and  me  we  know  she  only  put  it  on,  but  we 
laugh,  too,  as  if  we  had  a  joke.  Then  she  pour  out 
the  coffee,  talking  all  the  time  about  the  breakfast, 
and  Anton  Rubinstein,  and  Mrs.  Vittorio.  But 
never  a  word  about  her  not  able  to  sing  last  night. 
I  not  know  what  to  make  of  it.  So  I  laugh  when 
she  laugh,  and  we  talk,  all  three,  like  we  very 
happy." 

"She  is  well,  then?" 

Luigi   shook   his   head,   and   putting   his   right 


290  THE  CLIMAX 

forefinger  along  the  side  of  his  nose,  to  express  ex 
treme  sagacity,  he  answered:  "She  not  well,  but 
she  not  admit.  Pietro  he  go  out  after  breakfast. 
When  she  and  me  alone  she  say,  'Uncle  Luigi,  may 
I  still  live  here?'  I  almost  swear — in  Italian.  But 
I  don't  quite.  I  only  tell  her  she  live  with  us  al 
ways — unless  she  get  married.  Then  she  say  she 
teach  the  piano  and  earn  enough  to  pay  her  share 
of  the  housekeeping,  and  she  want  to  stay  all  her 
life  with  her  dear  Uncle  Luigi.  That  what  she  call 
me." 

He  almost  broke  down  when  he  got  to  this 
stage  of  his  recital,  but  recovered  himself  with  a 
mighty  sniff  and  went  on : 

"She  ask  me  never  to  speak  about  her  voice 
again,  and  to  tell  Pietro  and  you.  What  she  want, 
she  say,  is  to  forget  that  she  ever  could  sing.  We 
must  all  forget  it,  too.  That  was  all  she  asked — 
Oh,  yes,  there  was  one  other  thing:  She  beg  that 
Pietro  not  play  any  more  his  'Song  of  a  Soul'  when 
she  home.  Now,  come  up  and  see  her,  Doctor.  But 
do  not  speak  about  last  night." 

Raymond  did  not  stay  long  that  evening,  but 
if  he  feared  that  it  would  be  painful  to  meet  Ade- 
lina  for  the  first  time  after  her  disappointment  he 
was  decidedly  mistaken.  Sh-e  greeted  him  smil 
ingly,  and  seemed  so  determined  that  he  should  be 


THE  CLIMAX  297 

at  his  ease,  that  Pietro's  jealousy  threatened  to 
burst  into  flame  more  than  once.  She  chatted  about 
the  people  of  Azalia  and  recalled  many  incidents  of 
the  old  days  in  the  garden  and  under  the  porch 
with  the  crimson  ramblers.  She  never  mentioned 
St.  Jude's  choir,  however,  nor  referred  in  any  way 
to  her  singing.  But  she  sat  down  to  the  piano  and 
played  a  duet  with  Pietro,  saying,  banteringly,  that 
"if  Jack  had  kept  up  his  violin  studies,,  he  could 
have  joined  in  the  music  to-night."  It  was  obvious 
that  she  did  not  connect  him  with  the  awful  thing 
that  had  happened  to  her.  Even  though  she  had 
resolved  to  put  behind  her  the  ambition  which  had 
colored  her  whole  life  since  childhood,  it  would 
not  have  been  in  human  nature  to  treat  him  with 
cordiality  if  she  had  suspected  h^m  of  being  the 
wilful  cause  of  her  unhappiness,  ever  so  remotely. 
So  it  was  in  a  puzzled  frame  of  mind  that  he  left 
the  house.  He  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to 
know  what  her  sentiments  toward  him  really  were. 
For  a  week  Raymond  went  through  the  routine 
of  his  existence  as  an  advanced  student  in  the  hos 
pital,  following  up  the  practical  demonstrations 
there  by  assiduous  reading  in  his  lonely  room  at 
night.  Books  relating  to  the  diseases  which  came 
under  his  observation  at  the  hospital  had  the  first 
call  on  his  attention,  but  always  he  found  time  to 


298  THE  CLIMAX 

delve  into  treatises  on  various  phenomena  of  the 
mind  about  which,  although  he  had  learned  some 
thing,  he  still  felt  himself  woefully  ignorant. 

Scientific  research  was  not  the  only  thing  that 
occupied  him,  however.  He  never  ceased  to  specu 
late  on  what  answer  he  might  expect  if  ever  again 
he  put  that  important  question  to  Adelina  which 
he  had  already  asked  her  three  times.  He  did  not 
forget  her  playful  promise  that  if  her  voice  should 
fail,  and  there  was  no  one  else  she  liked  better, 
she  would  "think  about  it." 

Of  course,  she  had  spoken  only  in  jest,  for  she 
had  then  no  premonition  of  the  unthinkable  afflic 
tion  that  had  come  to  her  now.  But  why  should 
not  the  jest  become  earnest?  There  was  no  one 
else  she  cared  for.  He  was  sure  of  that.  Well,  he 
would  find  out  from  her  own  lips  what  his  own 
chances  were.  He  had  not  seen  her  for  a  week — 
staying  away  purposely,  so  that  the  first  sharpness 
of  her  distress  should  have  time  to  wear  off.  Now 
he  would  go — that  very  afternoon,  when  he  left  the 
hospital.  Yes,  and,  by  Jove !  on  this  day  Pietro  and 
Luigi  would  be  away,  giving  lessons,  and  he  would 
have  her  to  himself. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  came,  Jack,"  Adelina  was 
saying,  two  minutes  after  his  arrival,  as  she  took 


THE  CLIMAX  299 

his  hat  and  overcoat.  "It  is  more  than  a  week 
since  you  were  here." 

"No,  just  a  week,"  he  answered,  his  heart  beat 
ing  a  little  faster  at  her  indirect  confession  that  she 
had  missed  him  more  than  he  thought  she  would. 

"It  seems  longer,"  she  said.  "When  one  is  in 
a  strange  city,  one's  old  friends  become  more 
precious,  somehow,  and  we  want  to  see  them  as 
often  as  we  can." 

She  said  this  in  a  low  tone,  looking  through 
the  window  at  a  drift  of  soft  white  clouds  floating 
across  a  patch  of  sky  which  could  be  seen  above 
the  houses  on  the  other  side  of  the  street — if  one 
were  sitting  on  the  sofa,  against  the  wall,  near  the 
piano.  The  sofa  was  her  favorite  seat,  for  this 
very  reason,  and  she  had  dropped  into  it  naturally, 
after  making  Raymond  take  the  one  rocker  that  the 
establishment  boasted.  Now,  as  she  followed  the 
clouds  in  their  slow  procession  across  her  bit  of 
sky,  she  fancied  that  perhaps,  as  they  were  mov 
ing  from  the  west,  they  had  been  over  her  garden 
in  Azalia  not  many  hours  before.  It  was  not  likely 
that  they  had  been  there,  but  surely  there  is  no 
harm  in  a  girl  indulging  her  fancy. 

As  Raymond  rocked  in  his  chair,  Adelina's 
clear-cut  profile  was  between  him  and  the  window. 
How  often  he  had  seen  it  thus  in  the  Azalia  music- 


300  THE  CLIMAX 

room.  He  remembered  it  particularly  on  one  cer 
tain  summer  afternoon,  when  she  had  got  up  from 
the  piano  to  speak  to  the  canary  on  the  porch ! 

Adelina  had  not  brought  the  bird  with  her,  be 
cause  she  did  not  know  whether  she  would  be  able 
to  take  care  of  it  in  New  York,  and  therefore  had 
left  it  in  the  care  of  Carrie  Raymond.  But  Ray 
mond  could  imagine  it  was  outside  the  window  in 
this  dingy  city  street,  and  that  she  was  just  going 
to  chirp  to  it,  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing, 
at  home.  And  now  she  had  spoken  as  if  she  would 
like  to  be  back  in  Azalia,  even  though  her  father 
was  dead,  and  the  old  house  never  could  be  the 
same  to  her  again.  What  of  that?  John  Raymond 
did  not  want  her  to  live  in  her  old  home,  did  he? 

"Adelina!" 

He  was  out  of  his  chair  and  leaning  over  her 
so  suddenly  that  she  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 
Then,  as  his  words  poured  forth  so  fast  that  they 
almost  tumbled  over  each  other,  she  knew  he  was 
asking  her  again  to  do  something  she  had  thrice  re 
fused  him,  and  somehow,  this  time,  it  gave  her  pain, 

i 
as  well  as  annoyance. 

"Adelina,  why  not  go  back  to  Azalia.?"  he 
pleaded.  "Why  stay  here,  among  strangers,  as  you 
have  just  said." 

"Stop,  Jack.     I  said  'in  a  strange  city,'  but  I  am 


THE  CLIMAX 


not  among  strangers  here  at  home  —  with  Uncle 
Luigi  and  Pietro." 

Raymond  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  She 
went  on,  quickly  : 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  —  that  Sig- 
nor  Golfanti  is  not  my  uncle.  You  have  reminded 
me  of  that  before.  But  he  has  been  more  than  an 
uncle  to  me  while  I  have  lived  in  New  York.  He  is 
a  father  —  more  of  a  father  than  my  own  ever  was. 
When  I  spoke  of  being  in  a  strange  city,  I  was  not 
thinking  of  him  and  Pietro." 

"Still,  you  cannot  always  live  like  this,  work 
ing  hard  for  your  daily  bread.  You  must  marry 
some  time." 

"I  suppose  so  —  some  time,"  she  assented,  wear- 
ily. 

"To  me?" 

"I  don't  know." 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  that  he  could 
not  understand.  She  did  not  command  him  to  stop, 
as  she  had  always  before  when  he  spoke  in  this 
way.  She  simply  seemed  not  to  care.  Her  manner 
was  that  of  one  who  had  plucked  a  dead  sea  apple 
and  found  that  everything  had  turned  to  ashes,  even 
her  capacity  for  loving. 

All  this  certainly  was  disheartening  to  an  earn 
est,  lover,  and  Raymond  found  himself  gradually 


302  THE  CLIMAX 

ceasing  to  press  his  case,  while  she,  following  the 
fleeting  clouds  across  her  patch  of  blue  sky,  ap 
peared  not  to  know  whether  he  was  speaking  or 
not.  He  made  one  last  appeal. 

"Adelina,  what  do  you  say?  Will  you  let  me 
take  you  back  to  Azalia?  Not  now,  if  you  are  not 
ready.  I  will  wait  as  long  as  you  say  I  must.  Two 
months — six!  Only  say  that  some  time,  sooner  or 
later,  you  will  give  me  the  right  I  have  always 
hoped  would  be  mine,  to  stand  between  you  and 
the  world — its  hardships,  its  cruelties,  its — disap 
pointments." 

The  last  of  the  sailing  white  clouds  had  van 
ished  behind  a  dark  wall  of  one  of  the  houses  which 
bounded  her  bit  of  sky  on  one  side.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  way  of  her  view  of  limitless  space. 
She  gazed  into  it,  but  it  was  only  vacancy.  She 
knew  that — or  thought  she  knew  it.  But — was  the 
blue  into  which  she  peered  actually  emptiness? 
Might  there  not  be  something  beyond,  if  only  her 
sight  were  powerful  enough  to  bring  it  to  her?  It 
was  a  symbolism  of  her  own  present  outlook  on 
life.  Was  her  future  to  be  all  nothing?  Might 
there  not  be  success — triumph  for  her,  far  away  in 
the  ether  of  the  unknown?  It  was  hard  to  believe 
that  she  had  reached  the  end  of  her  ambition  so 
soon.  She  could  not  believe  it.  No,  the  clouds 


THE  CLIMAX  303 

.would  disappear,  and  then,  if  she  fixed  her  eyes 
firmly,  steadily,  confidently,  on  the  clear  blue  sky, 
she  might  come  to  see  at  last  that  it  was  not  all  a 
void,  after  all.  She  looked  up  into  John  Raymond's 
face,  and  as  she  saw  how  his  lips  were  quivering 
with  suspense,  she  whispered : 

"Can  you  be  patient  with  me,  Jack?" 
He  raised  his  eyes,  as  if  adjuring  the  gods  to 
witness  that  he  never  had  shown  any  lack  of  that 
virtue. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  Jack,"  she  continued,  has 
tily.  "You  have  been  more  forbearing  than  I  de 
serve.  But — won't  you  keep  on  a  little  longer?  I 
haven't  got  quite  used  to  it  yet — to — to — not  to  be 
able  to—" 

He  took  her  hand,  to  signify  that  he  knew  what 
was  in  her  thoughts,  and  that  she  need  not  suffer 
the  pain  of  telling  him. 

"And  so,  Jack,  I  want  time  to  think  it  all  over 
and  make  up  my  mind.  You  see,  I  thought  until 
lately  that  my  life  would  be  all  so  different.  Then 
I  don't  know  whether  I  love  you.  I  never  have 
known  that.  But  I  do  know  that  I  don't  care  for 
anyone  else.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  could." 

He  had  kept  her  hand,  and  now,  as  he  pressed 
it  hard,  bent  lower,  as  if  to  kiss  her  hair. 


304  THE  CLIMAX 

"No,  don't  Jack.  Don't,  please.  Not  now.  I 
want  you  to  wait." 

"For  how  long?" 

She  sat  in  silent  thought  for  more  than  a  min 
ute.  Then  she  answered : 

"It  is  autumn  now.  Winter  will  soon  be  here. 
I  never  feel  that  I  know  my  own  mind  in  winter. 
The  cold  seems  to  get  to  my  heart  and  brain,  so 
that  I  have  no  judgment.  Foolish,  isn't  it?  But  I 
can't  help  it.  So  let  it  be  in  the  spring,  Jack.  Then 
I  will  tell  you." 

"April?" 

"Yes." 

With  that,  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
"If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on." 

Autumn  slowly  faded  into  winter,  and  winter 
warmed  into  spring,  with  no  change  in  the  conduct 
of  the  Golfanti  household.  Adelina's  cheerfulness, 
forced  at  the  beginning,  gradually  became  her  nor 
mal  condition.  She  had  procured  a  number  of  piano 
pupils,  with  the  aid  of  Luigi  and  Pietro,  and  they 
kept  her  occupied  every  week  day.  Some  of  them 
came  to  her,  and  others  she  instructed  in  their  own 
homes.  Thus  she  became  familiar  with  the  high 
ways  and  byways  of  the  city,  and  although  often 
she  had  to  go  out  in  inclement  weather,  it  never 
distressed  her.  She  had  once  told  John  Raymond 
she  feared  the  cold  warped  her  judgment,  but  phy 
sically  it  had  no  evil  effect  on  her.  She  liked  her 
work,  anxi  her  home  life  was  tranquil,  in  spite  of 
that  fact  that  Pietro  never  ceased  trying  to  make 
love  to  her. 

John  Raymond  was  a  frequent  visitor,  and  al 
though  Luigi  liked  the  grave,  sensible  young  doc 
tor  more  and  more  as  he  grew  to  know  him  better, 

305 


306  THE  CLIMAX 

Raymond  never  could  break  through  the  wall  of 
jealous  reserve  Pietro  had  built  up  between  them. 
At  first,  none  of  them  ever  referred  to  Adelina's  sor 
row,  but,  as  time  passed,  she  talked  about  it  her 
self,  generally  with  a  wondering  regret,  but  with 
nothing  of  the  fierce  grief  and  antagonism  toward 
the  whole  world  which  had  possessed  her  on  that 
night  when,  with  her  throat  "asleep,"  she  had 
turned  away  from  the  piano  in  such  awful  despair. 
Sometimes  she  could  talk  about  the  loss  of  her 
voice  almost  lightly.  She  did  so  one  afternoon 
when  she  found  herself  alone  with  Pietro,  and  he 
insisted  on  playing  the  tortured  lover  for  the  hun 
dredth  time. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  silly,  Pietro,"  she 
said,  rumpling  his  black  curls  playfully  with  a  roll 
of  sheet-music.  He  swung  around  to  her  on  the 
piano-stool. 

"Silly !"  he  echoed,  bitterly.  "That's  what  you 
always  tell  me." 

"It's  what  you  are — a  silly  boy.  But  a  good 
one,  too." 

"Oh,  the  deuce  take  my  goodness.  I  am  not  a 
boy  at  all." 

"Yes,  you  are,  and  you  behave  like  one." 

"I  don't.    I'm  a  man,  and  I  love  you,  Adelina." 

"Of  course  you  do,"  she  answered,  smiling  and 


THE  CLIMAX  307 

threatening  him  again  with  the  roll  of  music,  "and 
you  are  going  to  keep  on  loving  me — until  you 
meet  the  real  girl,  and  find  the  real  love." 

"You're  the  only  real  girl  for  me,"  he  insisted, 
impetuously. 

"No,  I'm  not.  You  may  think  so,  but  I'm 
older  than  you — " 

"Five  weeks." 

"And  I  know  better,"  she  continued,  disregard 
ing  the  remark.  "I  only  hope,  for  both  your  sakes, 
that  when  you  do  meet  the  real  girl,  she  will  not 
be  a  genius." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because,  my  dear  cousin,  you  have  quite 
enough  genius  for  one  family." 

"You  mean  that  I  ought  not  to  compose  music, 
I  suppose?" 

"I  don't  mean  anything  so  ridiculous,  Pietro. 
But  you  need  an  anchor,  to  hold  you  near  the  earth 
long  enough  to  get  your  dreams  down  in  black  and 
white — in  form  to  show  and  sell." 

"Money  is  nothing,"  he  snapped. 

"It's  the  world's  standard  for  measuring  suc 
cess,"  she  rejoined. 

"The  greatest  of  musicians  have  died  poor." 

"Not  when  they  have  had  the  right  kind  of 
anchor." 


308  THE  CLIMAX 

A  bright  idea  struck  Pietro  at  this,  and  he 
asked,  quickly:  "Then,  why  don't  you  become  my 
anchor,  by  marrying  me?" 

She  shook  her  head  at  him  in  smiling  reproof, 
as  she  replied :  "I  want  to  fly  myself.  It  is  true  my 
wings  are  clipped.  Perhaps  it  was  Doctor  King  who 
clipped  them.  I  don't  know.  But  still  I  want  to 
fly,  and  I  need  a  strong  anchor  to  hold  me  down." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  when  Ade- 
lina  opened  it,  John  Raymond  walked  in.  Pietro 
saw  who  it  was,  nodded  coldly,  and  turned  to  the 
piano. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Jack,"  said  Adelina  with 
a  pleased  smile.  "Have  you  just  got  back  from 
Azalia?" 

"Yes,  I  arrived  this  morning.  I  had  to  report 
at  the  hospital,  but  I  came  here  as  soon  as  I  could 
get  away."  Then,  significantly:  "This  is  spring, 
you  know." 

She  did  not  shrink  at  the  reminder,  but  told 
him  she  was  glad  to  see  him,  and  asked  him  many 
questions  about  the  people  in  Azalia.  Pietro  had 
been  improvising  on  the  piano,  but  now  struck  into 
"The  Song  of  a  Soul,"  playing  it  with  the  intense 
feeling  he  always  wove  into  his  favorite  composi 
tion. 

Adelina  uttered  a  cry,  as  if  someone  had  struck 


THE  CLIMAX  309 

her.  Then  she  called  out  to  the  pianist  in  piteous 
tones: 

"Pietro,  please  don't!" 

He  stopped  on  the  instant,  saying,  remorse 
fully:  "Oh!  Adelina!  I  didn't  mean—  I  didn't 
think  what  I  was  playing." 

"And  I  didn't  think  it  would  hurt  me  so,"  she 
said.  "I  supposed  I'd  got  over  all  that  long  ago." 

She  turned  a  smiling  face  to  John  Raymond,  to 
prove  that  the  pain  had  been  only  temporary,  and 
resumed  the  conversation  which  her  sudden  pro 
test  to  Pietro  had  interrupted. 

"So  Carrie  is  married,"  she  said,  with  the  lively 
interest  of  her  sex  the  world  over  in  the  work  of 
Cupid  and  Hymen.  "She  has  married  that  Chicago 
lawyer,  and  gone  to  live  there,  has  she?  I  hope 
they'll  be  happy." 

"She  writes  that  she  is  happy — very  happy," 
Raymond  answered. 

"How  is  my  canary?" 

"Capital.  He  sings  louder  than  ever.  So  does 
your  Spanish  rooster.  He's  not  so  musical  as  the 
canary,  but  he  makes  up  for  that  in  energy.  Mrs. 
Ehrhardt  says  he  doesn't  get  any  older  in  appear 
ance.  She  is  saving  him  for  you.  She  is  con 
vinced  you  will  be  back  some  day." 


310  THE  CLIMAX 

"My  dear  old  black  Spanish!"  murmured  Ade- 
lina.  "I  should  like  to  see  him." 

"Caesar!  I  must  go!"  ejaculated  Pietro, 
abruptly,  from  the  piano.  "I  have  that  pupil  in 
Stuyvesant  Square  at  four  o'clock.  I'd  almost  for 
gotten  her." 

He  made  a  dive  for  his  hat,  which  he  had 
thrown  upon  the  piano  when  he  came  in,  and 
bolted.  It  was  the  happy-go-lucky  way  in  which 
Pietro  often  kept  his  engagements.  Composing 
was  of  infinitely  more  interest  to  him  than  teach 
ing. 

"Poor  Pietro!  He'll  have  to  hurry  if  he's 
going  to  get  there  by  four,"  remarked  Adelina, 
looking  at  the  clock.  "Teaching  is  an  exacting 
calling." 

"Aren't  you  tired  of  it?"  asked  Raymond. 

"Not  particularly,"  she  answered,  slowly.  "It 
isn't  what  I  had  hoped  for  myself  as  my  life  work. 
But  it's  music — and  there  is  pleasure  in  watching 
the  development  of  technical  skill  in  those  who  al 
ready  love  it,  knowing  that  they  owe  it  to  your  in 
struction." 

"But  teaching  is  drudgery,  at  best,  and  I  want 
to  see  you  free  of  it.  Adelina,  this  is  spring.  You 
remember  what  you  said  to  me  in  the  autumn,  in 


THE  CLIMAX  311 

this  very  room,  when  I  asked  you  a  certain  question 
for  the  fourth  time?" 

She  had  seated  herself  on  the  piano-stool,  and 
Raymond,  leaning  an  elbow  on  the  piano,  looked 
down  at  her  eagerly.  Seemingly  without  thinking 
of  what  she  was  doing,  she  began  to  play  the 
"Spring  Song,"  so  softly  that  it  was  easy  to  talk 
through  the  music. 

"I  remember,  Jack,"  she  answered. 

"And  can  you  give  me  your  decision?" 

She  played  for  some  little  time,  looking  at  the 
patch  of  blue  sky  toward  which  her  gaze  was  so 
often  drawn  when  she  was  seated  at  the  piano. 
There  were  a  few  clouds,  but  they  were  golden- 
edged,  and  she  would  not  have  had  them  away  if 
she  could. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  say,  Jack?"  she 
asked,  at  last. 

"That  you  will  be  my  wife,"  he  replied, 
quickly.  "That  you  will  give  yourself  to  me,  to 
love,  to  cherish,  to  protect,  to  worship.  Can  you? 
Will  you?" 

His  earnestness  made  his  voice  hoarse,  as  he 
bent  over  her  so  closely  that  his  breath  rippled  the 
hair  clustered  loosely  over  her  forehead.  She  never 
ceased  playing,  but  her  supple  ringers  were  bring 
ing  forth  the  melody  without  conscious  exertion. 


312  THE  CLIMAX 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  say,  Jack,"  sHe  said. 
"A  few  months  ago  my  reply  would  have  been  the 
same  as  it  always  has  been.  Now,  the  something 
I  had  hoped,  that  filled  my  entire  being,  is  gone. 
The  desire  is  still  there,  but — without  the  hope." 

"And  your  answer  to  me  is — " 

"If  you  think  it  will  make  you  happy — yes." 

With  the  contradictoriness  of  a  lover,  now  that 
lie  knew  he  had  won  her,  he  was  not  quite  satis 
fied. 

"Don't  stop  playing,  Adelina.  I  can  talk  better 
while  I  hear  the  music.  I  have  one  more  question. 
Do  you — love  me?" 

Her  face  became  very  serious,  as  she  answered : 
"I  don't  really  know.  I  am  not  sure  that  the 
thought  of  being  your  wife  gives  me  happiness. 
And  yet,  Jack,  the  bare  idea  of  any  other  woman 
holding  that  place  would  madden  me.  I  could  not 
bear  it."  She  played  for  a  few  moments  without 
speaking,  and  then  added,  coyly:  "If  that  is  love, 
Jack,  1  love  you." 

Some  lovers  would  have  half  smothered  her 
with  embraces  at  this.  John  Raymond  only  kissed 
her  hair.  He  felt  himself  such  a  big,  coarse  crea 
ture  that  it  would  have  been  sacrilege  to  do  more. 
Then  he  walked  to  the  window  and  back,  while 
she  watched  him  with  a  smiling  look  of  proprietor- 


THE  CLIMAX  313 

ship  that  he  caught  as  he  turned.  He  would  have 
taken  her  in  his  arms  then,  only  that  he  did  not 
want  to  stop  her  playing.  He  was  a  lover  with 
unusual  self-control. 

"Satisfied?"  she  asked,  with  a  side  glance  that 
drew  from  him  a  deep  sigh  of  content. 

"1  can't  believe  it  yet,  dear,"  he  answered.  "It 
is  aU  so  strange — so  unbelievable.  To  think  that, 
after  all  these  months — years — I  have  you  at  last. 
Why,  I — What  a  beautiful  air  that  is !  It  seems  to 
express  my  happiness,  somehow.  Mendelssohn, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes.  One  of  his  'Songs  Without  Words.'  I 
think  he  must  have  written  it  for  people  without 
voices,  so  that  they  could  sing  it  with  their  fingers." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  save  for  the  bewitch 
ing  melody  that  rose  and  fell  under  her  skilled 
touch.  Then  John  Raymond  asked  her,  in  what  he 
tried  to  make  a  steady  tone: 

"Adelina,  suppose  your  voice  were  to  come 
back  after  we  are  married,  do  you  think  you  would 
regret  having  given  yourself  to  me?" 

There  was  no  doubt  or  hesitation  in  her  reply. 
She  said,  quietly: 

"When  we  kneel  at  the  altar,  side  by  side,  in 
that  moment  I  shall  put  everything  else  behind  me. 


3H  THE  CLIMAX 

If  I  did  not  know  I  could  do  that,  I  shoflld  never 
take  the  marriage  vows." 

Luigi  Golfanti  came  in,  with  his  customary 
breeziness,  nearly  half  an  hour  afterward.  Ade- 
lina  was  still  playing,  while  John  Raymond,  his 
elbow  on  the  piano,  looked  into  her  face  with  adora 
tion — shadowed  at  intervals  by  something  that  a 
close  observer  might  have  taken  for  doubt,  fear 
or  remorse,  or  all  three. 

It  was  Adelina  who  went  to  Luigi,  and,  with 
a  blush  that  he  thought  extremely  becoming,  told 
him  that  John  Raymond  had  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife. 

"And  you  said  'yes,'  of  course.  I  knew  this 
was  coming  soon.  I'm  glad  it  come.  Now  we 
know  what  you  will  do,"  chuckled  Luigi,  with  his 
forefinger  at  the  side  of  his  nose. 

"And  you're  not  surprised,  Uncle?" 

"How  can  I  be  surprised,  when' I  see  him  look 
ing  at  you  so  many  times  all  winter  as  if  he  would 
eat  you  up?  Pietro,  he  see  it,  too." 

"Why,  Uncle,  I  didn't  know  it.  Jack,  I'm 
ashamed  of  you." 

"Si,  and  when  he  not  doing  it,  you  were  looking 
at  him,"  declared  Luigi,  still  chuckling.  "You 
think  you  surprise  me?  No.  I  have  eyes  in  my 
face."  Then,  seizing  Raymond's  hand  in  a  warm 


THE  CLIMAX  315 

grasp,  he  said,  seriously:  "I  congratulate  you,  Sig- 
nor  Doctor.  You  have  steal  my  little  girl,  but  I  am 
glad  of  it.  You  can  make  her  happy,  and  you  will 
do  it." 

"I'll  try,  Signor  Golfanti.  Heaven  helping  me, 
she  never  shall  have  cause  to  regret  her  promise." 

"Si.  I  know  that,"  said  Luigi,  adding,  as  he 
patted  the  girl's  cheek,  "Adelina,  Doctor  Raymond 
is  good  man.  You  safe  with  him." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Adelina  asked,  a 
little  anxiously:  "Uncle,  will  you  tell  Pietro?" 

"Si.  I  tell  him.  He  used  to  think  he  in  love 
with  you  himself.  That  foolish.  He  only  a  boy. 
His  love  it  is  the  love  of  a  calf.  It  is  nothing." 

But  Pietro  did  not  agree  with  his  father,  and 
that  night,  when  John  Raymond — who  stayed  for 
supper,  listening  to  duets  played  by  Pietro  and 
Adelina  afterward — had  gone  home,  and  when  Pie 
tro  was  the  only  one  in  the  Golfanti  apartments 
who  had  not  retired,  he  went  into  his  studio  and 
brushed  angry  tears  from  his  cheeks.  Even  "calf 
love"  is  not  without  its  discomfort. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"The  song  that  I  sing — yea,  'tis  no  new  song; 
It  is  tried — and  so  it  is  true." 

It  was  to  be  a  June  wedding.  John  Raymond 
argued  that,  as  he  had  waited  so  long  for  an  answer 
to  his  question,  it  ought  to  count  against  the  ex 
tended  period  which  sometimes  intervenes  between 
betrothal  and  the  marriage  day.  Adelina  did  not 
think  this  invulnerable  logic,  but  she  agreed  to  the 
proposition.  So  it  came  about  that,  on  one  bright 
morning,  two  months  after  she  had  given  him  'her 
promise,  when  city  workers  who  lived  in  the 
suburbs  were  bringing  their  roses  to  give  fragrance 
and  a  touch  of  color  to  offices  in  skyscrapers,  and 
to  gloomy  counting-rooms  in  dark  corners  of  big 
stores  and  warehouses,  she  came  out  of  her  own 
chamber  to  the  big  room  where  the  grand  piano 
stood,  to  ask  her  Uncle  Luigi  how  he  liked  her 
bridal  gown. 

"Beautiful!  Lovely!"  was  his  quick  response. 
"I  always  like  you  in  white.  You  had  a  white  frock 
on  when  you  sang  in  the  church  in  Azalia.  It  suit 

you.     It  fresh,  sweet,  pure.     So  are  you." 

316 


^  **» 


'LIKE  OLD  TIMES, 


THE  CLIMAX  317 

She  pinched  his  cheek  as  she  told  him  he  was  a 
"silly  old  uncle,"  and  that  he  would  have  to  get 
over  the  habit  of  flattering  her,  or  Jack  would 
think  she  had  been  spoiled.  Luigi  insisted  it  was 
not  flattery,  but  the  truth.  And  anybody  looking 
at  the  girlish  figure  in  its  well-fitting  white  gown, 
the  pretty,  roguish  face,  and  the  golden-brown  hair, 
in  which  nestled  two  or  three  white  carnations,  must 
have  agreed  with  him.  She  was  an  ideal  June 
bride. 

Luigi  himself  was  gorgeous  in  light  trousers, 
white  waistcoat,  a  frock  coat  which  had  seen  better 
days,  but  which,  touched  up  by  the  skilful  fingers 
of  Rubinstein,  the  tailor,  did  not  show  the  moth- 
holes  nor  the  white  seams  which  had  been  there 
before  its  renovation.  His  tan  shoes  had  been 
blackened  by  Tony  Balzano,  the  Italian  shoeblack 
at  the  corner,  and  on  the  coat-lapel  was  a  white 
carnation,  placed  there  by  Adelina.  A  silk  hat, 
with  wide,  curly  brim,  on  the  piano,  would  be  his 
crowning  glory  when  ready  to  depart  for  the 
church. 

Adelina  went  back  to  her  room,  while  Luigi, 
calling  Pietro,  who  had  been  putting  the  final 
touches  to  his  toilet,  slipped  off  his  coat  and  slid 
into  one  of  Adelina's  check  aprons.  Then  he 
pointed  to  the  dishpan  in  which  were  the  soiled 


3i8  THE  CLIMAX 

cups  and  saucers  left  from  breakfast.  With  a  dole 
ful  expression  on  his  face  which  Luigi  only  laughed 
at,  Pietro  helped  his  father  "wash  up"  the  crock 
ery.  They  couldn't  think  of  allowing  Adelina  to 
do  it  on  this  occasion,  her  wedding  morn,  although 
she  had  begged  to  do  so. 

"This  like  old  times,  eh?"  said  Luigi. 

Mr.  Raymond,  senior,  and  Carrie,  with  her 
husband,  from  Chicago,  had  come  to  New  York  to 
attend  the  wedding.  They  would  be  at  the  church 
— a  quiet  old  tree-shaded  edifice  near  Washington 
Square — and  afterward  would  go  West  on  the  train 
which  would  bear  Adelina  and  John  Raymond  away 
to  their  future  home  in  Azalia. 

Wheels  sounded  outside  and  stopped  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  Luigi  shouted,  excitedly: 

"Here  it  is  !  Pietro !  Come  out !  Adelina,  you 
ready?  Where  my  hat?" 

He  put  on  the  silk  hat  and  began  to  fumble 
with  his  lavender  kid  gloves,  while  Pietro  called 
from  his  room  that  he  would  be  out  directly.  Ade 
lina  was  looking  around  the  room  with  a  sad  face. 
It  had  been  her  home  for  many  months,  and  she 
could  not  leave  it  without  a  pang.  Even  though 
it  was  here  that  she  had  suffered  the  shock  which 
perhaps  would  never  cease  to  echo  in  her  heart 
from  time  to  time,  it  also  was  in  this  home  that  her 


THE  CLIMAX  319 

Uncle  Luigi  had  come  to  be  more  than  a  father, 
while  for  Pietro  she  entertained  an  affection  which, 
if  not  of  the  kind  he  desired,  was  sincere  in  its  sis 
terly  steadfastness. 

"You're  sure  it  is  the  carriage,  Uncle?"  she 
asked,  as,  having  drawn  about  her  shoulders  the 
lace  shawl  she  intended  to  wear  to  the  church,  she 
touched  with  caressing  fingers  the  fresh  pansies  in 
a  vase  on  the  table  that  John  Raymond  had  sent 
her  that  morning,  and  which  she  meant  to  take 
with  her  on  the  train. 

"Si.  Do  I  not  hear  the  coachman  swearing  at 
his  horses?  Of  course  it  is  the  carriage,  and — " 

She  put  a  hand  over  his  mouth  and  whispered : 
"Uncle,  before  we  go  down  stairs,  won't  you  let 
me  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you — and  Pie 
tro?  You  believe  that,  don't  you?" 

"Si.     I  know  it." 

"We  have  had  happy  days,  Uncle,  since  I  came 
to  be  your  pupil — very  happy." 

"Si.  Too  bad  the  miserable  ones  they  come, 
too,"  he  answered,  with  a  lugubrious  shake  of  his 
head,  as  his  eyes  moistened. 

"They  could  not  be  kept  away.  They  come 
to  everyone,  Uncle.  I  know  what  you  are  thinking 
about.  But  even  those  days,  in  time,  will  coma  to 


320  THE  CLIMAX 

be  nothing  but  a  beautiful  memory  of  all  your 
kindness  and  affection,  Uncle,  dear." 

Tears  were  in  her  own  eyes,  as  well  as  in  his, 
but  there  was  nothing  bitter  in  them.  They  sug 
gested  a  gently-chastened  soul,  rather  than  sorrow. 

"That  night,  Adelina — you  know,"  said  Luigi, 
as  he  looked  lovingly  at  her.  "I  cannot  forget.  My 
heart  it  still  feel  the  anguish." 

"Yes,"  she  responded,  musingly.  "Sometimes, 
Uncle,  I  dream  that  night  never  was.  I  seem  to 
see  another  night,  in  an  immense,  brilliantly-lighted 
theatre,  and  I  am  walking  on  the  stage  to  sing.  In 
the  sea  of  faces  before  me  I  see  expectation,  but 
always  friendly.  The  audience  seems  to  know  and 
have  confidence  in  me.  There  is  a  burst  of  hand- 
clapping  like  the  beginning  of  a  great  thunder 
storm.  Oh,  it  is  glorious!  I  stand  for  a  moment 
and  bow  in  response  to  the  welcoming  applause. 
Then  the  orchestra  crashes  out  the  opening  chords 
of — What  do  you  think,  Uncle?" 

"What?"  asked  Luigi,  softly,  for  the  girl,  it 
seemed  to  him,  had  become  transfigured,  and  to  his 
poetic  southern  imagination  she  was  the  very  in 
carnation  of  the  art  he  loved  so  well — music  itself. 
"What  was  it?" 

"Pietro's  'Song  of  a  Soul/  " 

"Ah!   You  sing  that?" 


THE  CLIMAX  321 

"Yes,  and  I  sing  as  I  never  had  sung  before. 
There  is  some  new  power  within  me  which  lends 
fire  to  my  tones.  My  voice  rises  higher  and  higher. 
My  soul  speaks  to  theirs — the  people  out  front — 
through  the  words  and  melody.  I  reach  the  last 
note,  and,  as  it  ends,  the  audience  is  on  its  feet, 
sending  forth  roar  after  roar  of  applause.  I  bow, 
but  they  will  not  stop.  I  run  to  the  wings,  and,  as 
they  thunder  for  me  to  come  back,  I  return,  lead 
ing  by  the  hand  my  teacher,  Luigi  Golfanti." 

"Si?" 

"There  is  a  hush  as  they  see  that  I  want  to 
speak.  Then  I  tell  them,  'It  is  he  who  is  the  mas 
ter.  I  am  only  the  pupil.'  " 

"Ah!  That  is  very  good,"  observed  Luigi, 
after  a  pause,  during  which  he  had  regarded  with 
strong  admiration  her  flushed  cheeks  and  kindling 
eyes.  "But,  carissima,  it  is  only  in  dreams  that 
pupils  do  that  for  their  teachers."  He  shook  his 
head  in  whimsical  incredulity,  and  then,  coming 
back  to  the  real  present,  added :  "Remember,  Ade- 
lina,  the  carriage  is  here." 

But  it  was  not  the  carriage.  A  sharp  tap  at 
the  door,  and  John  Raymond,  in  the  correct  attire 
of  a  bridegroom,  an  apologetic  smile  on  his  face, 
came  in.  His  manner  was  feverish,  as  it  seldom 
was  in  this  ordinarily  well-poised  young  man. 


322  THE  CLIMAX 

"Why,  Jack !  I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  here/* 
cried  Adelina.  "I  got  those  beautiful  pansies,  you 
see.  They're  lovely." 

"I'm  glad  you  like  them,  dear.  I  know  I  am 
violating  all  etiquette  in  seeing  you  on  your  wed 
ding  day  before  meeting  you  in  church.  But  I 
couldn't  help  it.  The  fact  is,  I  did  not  sleep  well 
last  night." 

"That  not  strange,"  observed  Luigi.  "I  re 
member,  when  I  get  married,  I  walk  the  floor  all 
night.  I  was  so  nervous — with  happiness.  That  so 
with  you,  eh?" 

"Yes,  but  it  was  more  than  that.  I  had  a: 
queer  presentiment  of  something  evil.  I  can't  ex 
plain  it,  but  it  was  there." 

"You  study  too  much,  Jack,"  she  said,  with 
tender  solicitude.  "I  hope  you  won't  do  it  when 
you — we — get  to  Azalia." 

"I  tell  you.  It  is  those  books  you  read,  about 
— what  you  call  ? — mental  phenomena,"  was  Luigi's 
opinion,  expressed  with  much  positiveness.  "That 
one  you  lend  me,  he  give  me  the  creeps.  No  won 
der  you  nervous.  If  I  read  many  books  like  that, 
I  see  ghosts  in  my  bedroom  every  night.  Where 
is  that  Pietro?  I  go  and  see.  He  been  so  long 
dressing  as  if  he  going  to  be  married  to-day." 

Luigi  bustled  away  to  the  bedroom,  and  Ade- 


THE  CLIMAX  323 

lina  loved  him  for  his  thoughtfulness.  She  knew 
he  had  gone  out  only  to  give  John  Raymond  an  op 
portunity  to  talk  to  her  alone. 

"Now,  what  is  it,  Jack?"  she  asked,  affection 
ately,  standing  directly  in  front  of  him.  "What  is 
the  matter?" 

"I  don't  know,  only  I  had  to  come  and  assure 
myself  you  were  safe,  and — and — had  not  changed 
your  mind." 

"About  what?" 

"About  marrying  me." 

Her  merry  laugh  was  heard  in  the  other  room, 
and  Luigi  remarked  to  Pietro  that  he  would  like  to 
know  what  the  joke  was  that  Doctor  Raymond  was 
telling  Adelina. 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  Jack.  You  can't  es 
cape  now,"  was  her  reply.  "In  less  than  half  an 
hour  I  shall  be  Mrs.  John  Raymond,  unless  some 
thing  happens." 

He  drew  her  to  him  in  a  fierce  embrace,  and 
his  breath  on  her  cheek  was  so  hot  that  she  was 
frightened.  He  mtfst  be  ill. 

"What  could  happen?"  he  whispered.  "Can  you 
think  of  anything  that  could  make  you  give  me  up 
now?" 

"Nothing." 

She   answered   promptly,   and   with   her   clear 


324  THE  CLIMAX 

eyes  looking-  into  his.  He  held  her  close  for  an 
other  instant,  and  then,  as  he  released  her,  said, 
in  an  altered  tone: 

"I'm  going  to  the  church  now,  dear.  You  will 
be  there  almost  as  soon  as  I,  for  I  hear  your  car 
riage  driving  up  to  the  door." 

Luigi  came  out  of  the  bedroom  and  ran  to  the 
window,  pointing  excitedly  downward,  to  indicate 
that  the  carriage  had  come. 

"Good  morning,  Doctor  Raymond." 

It  was  Pietro,  who  had  followed  his  father, 
and  who  looked  very  handsome  in  his  new  clothes, 
bought  especially  for  the  wedding. 

"Good  morning,  Pietro." 

Pietro  hesitated,  and  then  impulsively  put  out 
his  hand,  palm  upward.  Raymond  took  it  at  once, 
with  evident  pleasure. 

"Doctor  Raymond,"  said  Pietro,  swallowing 
hard,  "we  haven't  been  the  best  of  friends,  have 
we?" 

"I  have  always  felt  friendly  toward  you,  Pie 
tro." 

"I  believe  that.  But  I  haven't  toward  you. 
I've  behaved  like  a  cad  at  times,  and  I'm  sorry — 
very  sorry.  It  wasn't  that  I  had  anything  against 
you  as  a  gentleman,  or  man.  But  —well,  I  guess 
you  know.  Will  you  forgive  me?" 


THE  CLIMAX  325 

The  pressure  of  Raymond's  hand  was  answer 
enough,  and  Pietro  stalked  to  the  piano  and  began 
playing  softly,  from  mere  force  of  habit. 

"Adelina,  here  is  something  you  ought  to  take 
with  you,"  said  Luigi,  taking  up  from  the  window- 
sill  the  atomizer  with  which  Raymond  had  sprayed 
her  throat  for  several  days  after  it  was  found  that 
Doctor  King's  operation  had  resulted  so  disas 
trously. 

"Do  you  still  use  that,  Addie?"  asked  Ray 
mond. 

"Not  lately.  I  used  to  do  so,  because  I  thought 
it  made  my  throat  feel  easier.  But  soon  I  decided 
that  it  was  not  necessary,  and  I  have  not  tried  it  for, 
months.  I  put  it  out,  intending  to  take  it  with  me, 
but  it  seems  I  overlooked  it  when  I  was  packing 
my  trunk." 

"I'll  take  care  of  it,"  volunteered  Raymond, 
putting  the  atomizer  in  his  pocket. 

"Come  on,  Pietro,"  cried  Luigi,  somewhat  test 
ily.  "What  you  sitting  there  for?  We'll  be  late." 

"That's  true.  We  shall  all  be  late.  I  must 
go,"  said  Raymond.  "My  father  and  Carrie  will 
wonder  what  has  become  of  me." 

He  had  already  reached  the  door,  when  a  sud 
den  fancy  seized  Adelina,  and  she  ran  to  the  piano, 
telling  Pietro  she  was  going  to  try  to  sing — just 


326  THE  'CLIMAX 

once  more  before  she  went  away.  She  never  would 
have  him  for  an  accompanist  again,  perhaps. 

Raymond  stopped. 

"I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you,  Adelina,"  he  said. 
"It  might  hurt  your  throat." 

He  spoke  in  the  authoritative  tone  of  a  doctor, 
but  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  appeal  in  it,  as 
well. 

"You  have  not  try  the  voice  lately,  have  you, 
Adelina?"  asked  Luigi,  casually. 

"Not  for  months.  The  last  time  I  tried  I 
found  it  hurt  me.  I  suppose  it  will  now.  But — 
give  me  the  key,  Pietro,  and  I'll  try,  just  for  fun." 

"There's  not  much  time,"  said  Luigi.  "But  I 
suppose  we  can  give  you  five  minutes.  Girls  always 
are  doing  things  no  one  else  would  think  of." 

"Addie !"  cried  Raymond,  warningly. 

But  she  did  not  heed  either  of  them.  As  Pie 
tro  played  a  chord,  she  sang  the  corresponding  note, 
and  then,  very  slowly,  ran  the  octave  scale. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  turning  to  Raymond,  "my 
voice  is  like  a  piano  with  a  delayed  action.  I  strike 
the  key,  but  I  must  wait  for  the  tone.  Now,  you'll 
hear,  when  I  try  to  connect  the  tones  or  sing  them 
quickly.  Listen." 

She  began  slowly  to  run  the  scale,  and  then, 


THE  CLIMAX  327 

without  effort,  sang  it  as  rapidly  as  the  written 
music  demanded. 

A  look  of  surprise  and  hope  came  to  her  face, 
as  she  did  it  again.  Luigi,  his  hands  pressed  tightly 
together,  leaned  forward  and  made  a  glad  outcry: 

"Adelina!" 

"Come  on,  Adelina!  Try  it  again,"  shouted 
Pietro,  wild  with  excitement. 

Once  more  she  sang  the  scale,  rapidly,  clearly 
and  evenly,  and  then  burst  into  a  bravura  that  she 
had  never  attempted  in  her  best  days  except  when 
assured  that  she  was  in  perfect  voice. 

"Brava!  Brava!  Bravissima !"  shrieked 
Luigi. 

"By  heaven !  You  never  did  it  better,"  cried 
Pietro,  as  he  ran  the  scale  up  and  down  the  piano. 

"Uncle!    Uncle!     I  can  sing!" 

Adelina  flung  herself  hysterically  into  Luigi's 
arms. 

John  Raymond,  pale  and  shaking,  leaned  his 
two  hands  upon  the  table  and  stared  at  her  with  the 
awful  fixed  look  of  one  in  a  trance. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
"I  pour  my  joy  forth  in  a  song." 

"Adelina!" 

It  was  John  Raymond's  voice — cold  and  me 
tallic,  as  she  thought — which  recalled  her  to  her 
self. 

"Adelina!" 

"Yes,  Jack?" 

"The  carriage  is  waiting.  You  will  be  at  the 
church  in  time?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  well.    I  will  go  there  and  wait  for  you." 

"I'll  soon  be  there.  But — Jack,  dear — isn't  it 
glorious  ?" 

She  was  by  his  side  as  he  was  about  to  open 
the  door,  looking  into  his  face  for  sympathy  in  her 
great  joy. 

"You  mean—" 

"My  voice  coming  back.  Oh,  I  must  sing  Pie- 
tro's  'Song  of  a  Soul'  before  I  go.  I  won't  be  long. 
You  won't  mind  waiting  for  just  a  few  minutes, 
will  you  ?  Tell  Carrie.  Oh,  no  one  knows  what  it 

328 


THE  CLIMAX  329 

means  to  me.  Play,  Pietro !  Play !  I  must  sing,  or 
go  mad!" 

"Adelina!" 

This  time  there  was  stern  resolve  in  John  Ray 
mond's  tones,  and  she  stopped  as  abruptly  as  if  he 
had  taken  her  by  the  wrist  and  held  her. 

"Yes,  Jack!" 

"It  isn't  too  late,"  he  said,  forcing  himself  to 
speak  steadily,  although  his  agitation  could  not  be 
kept  out  of  his  tones  altogether.  "Now  that  you 
can  sing  perhaps  you  are  sorry  you  promised  me — 
But  I  will  release  you,  if — if — you  desire  it." 

"Jack?" 

"Think,  Addie !  Think!"  and  his  words 
sounded  like  a  groan. 

She  put  one  hand  over  her  eyes,  holding  out 
the  other  gropingly. 

"Don't  let  me  think,  Jack.     Take  me." 

He  caught  the  wandering  hand  and  whispered, 
rapidly,  in  tones  that  were  not  like  his  own :  "If 
you  knew  I  had  caused  the  loss  of  your  voice, 
would  you  come  with  me,  then?" 

She  pulled  her  hand  away  and  standing  off  at 
a  little  distance,  looked  at  him  with  wide-open 
eyes,  as  if  an  unbelievable  revelation  had  come  to 
her. 

"I   don't  understand   it,"   she   said,  separating 


330  THE  CLIMAX 

each  word  and  syllable,  and  speaking  very  slowly. 
"You  couldn't  do  such  an  awful,  cruel  thing." 

"I  did  do  it.  I  am  a  doctor,  and  I  did  it.  Now, 
will  you  give  yourself  to  me  in  that  church?" 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant.  Then,  flinging  up 
her  head,  as  if  she  had  cast  from  her  an  unworthy 
doubt  she  answered,  in  clear,  ringing  tones: 

"Yes,  I  will,  for  I  don't  believe  it." 

"It  is  the  truth,"  he  persisted.  "It  was  I  who 
caused  you  to  lose  your  voice  for  so  long.  I  and 
no  one  else." 

"If  it  is  the  truth,  how  did  you  do  it?"  broke 
in  Luigi,  who,  having  heard  enough  of  the  half- 
whispered  conversation  to  awaken  his  suspicions, 
now  found  them  confirmed  by  Raymond's  last 
loudly-uttered  assertion.  "Tell  us.  We  want  to 
know.  We  must  know." 

"I'll  tell  you,  Addie,"  said  Raymond,  address 
ing  himself  to  her,  and  not  to  Luigi.  "Doctor  King 
told  me  you  would  not  sing  well  until  the  vocal 
cord  stretched  by  him  had  in  the  course  of  time 
worked  into  unison  with  the  others.  I  did  not  tell 
you  this.  I  led  you  to  believe  that  the  success  or 
failure  of  the  operation  would  show  at  the  first 
trial  of  the  voice." 

She  nodded,  and  he  continued:    "When  you 


THE  CLIMAX  33* 

tried  to  sing,  I  secretly  suggested  to  you  that  you 
must  fail." 

"You  mean  telepathically?" 

"Yes.  That  night  you  were  so  nervous  as  to 
be  a  good  subject  for  mental  suggestion.  I  made 
that  suggestion  as  strong  as  I  could.  When  you 
tried  to  sing  you  were  filled  with  the  dread  of 
breaking  down.  Your  voice  did  not  respond  im 
mediately.  That  gave  you  a  shock  that  shattered 
your  nerves  still  more,  and  the  suggestion  of  fail 
ure  did  the  rest.  Now  you  know  why  you  could 
not  sing  that  night." 

Luigi  and  Pietro  had  been  listening  as  he 
made  this  confession,  and  if  Pietro  had  not  been 
quick  in  catching  his  father's  arm,  the  old  Italian 
would  have  had  John  Raymond  by  the  throat. 

Adelina,  looking  sternly  at  him,  did  not  move. 

"Why  did  you  do  this,  Jack?"  she  asked,  at 
last. 

"I  saw  your  voice  stealing  you  away  from  me 
— dragging  you  toward  a  life  that  could  mean  only 
your  destruction  in  this  world  and  the  next,  and  I 
determined  to  save  you,"  he  replied,  doggedly. 

"To  save  me?    From  what?" 

"From  the  stage.  From  a  life  so  unwholesome 
that  less  than  ten  women  in  every  hundred  pass 
through  it  unsoiled." 


332  THE  CLIMAX 

"My  mother  was  one  of  the  ten — or  she  would 
have  been  if  your  estimate  were  correct.  Don't  you 
think  I  could  be,  also?" 

"Forgive  me,  Addie.  I  should  not  have  said 
that.  I  have  no  right  to  say  positively  what  the 
stage  is  or  is  not.  I  speak  only  by  common  report." 

"In  Azalia,"  she  suggested,  bitterly.  "It  is 
Azalia's  opinion  you  share." 

"As  I  have  always  lived  in  Azalia  except  during 
the  past  few  months,  yes,"  he  admitted,  adding  des 
perately,  his  face  drawn  with  agony :  "I  love  you, 
Adelina.  Don't  you  see  that  I  would  believe  any 
thing  which  would  warrant  me  in  trying  to  keep 
you?" 

"Even  to  inflicting  such  torture  on  me  as  you 
did  that  night,  when  you  told  and  acted  a  false 
hood." 

"I  love  you,  Addie." 

She  went  on,  unheeding  him :  "And  you  would 
have  married  me  with  this  lie  in  your  heart." 

"I  love  you." 

"You  would  have  tricked  me  into  marrying 
yon." 

"Listen,  Adelina,"  and  there  was  a  world  of 
tenderness  and  appeal  in  his  tones  now.  "Once, 
when  you  were  a  little  girl,  you  ran  a  splinter  into 


THE  CLIMAX  333 

your  hand.  I  wanted  to  take  it  out,  but  you  were 
afraid  when  you  saw  my  penknife." 

She  sat  down  by  the  table,  her  face  hidden  by 
her  hands,  andj  wept  softly. 

"I  knew  that  the  splinter  must  not  stay  there," 
he  continued,  "so  I  took  you  and  held  you  by  force 
while  I  cut  it  out.  You  screamed  with  the  pain  as 
I  did  it,  but  afterward  you  were  glad." 

She  did  not  look  up  when  he  had  finished 
speaking.  He  stepped  over  to  her  and  whispered: 

"Is  this  the  end?" 

Without  replying,  she  got  up  and  went  to  the 
piano,  beckoning  to  Pietro,  who  took  his  seat  on  the 
stool  and  looked  up  at  her  questioningly. 

She  resolutely  brushed  the  tears  from  her  face 
and  pointed  to  the  music  of  "The  Song  of  a  Soul," 
which  was  open  before  him. 

"Will  you  sing  it,  Adelina?"  asked  Pietro. 

She  nodded.     He  played  the  prelude. 

"Adelina!"  cried  Raymond.  "Won't  you  speak 
to  me?" 

An  impatient  sweep  of  her  hand  was  all  she 
vouchsafed  to  him.  Then  she  began  to  sing  with 
a  fervor  that  told  how  she  rejoiced  in  the  possession 
of  the  voice  she  believed  she  had  lost  forever. 

John  Raymond  stood  by  the  table,  look:ng  at 
her.  Luigi — whose  anger  at  him  had  evaporated 


334  THE  CLIMAX 

as  suddenly  as  it  arose — was  by  the  side  of  the 
young  doctor. 

Adelina  finished  the  song,  and  Pietro  played 
it  over  again,  softly  and  lingeringly,  as  if  loath  to 
let  it  go.  Luigi  went  to  her  and  whispered  some 
thing  in  her  ear.  She  shook  her  head.  He  per 
sisted.  Once  more  she  made  a  negative  sign,  but 
a  gentle  expression  had  dispelled  the  frown  with 
which  she  had  driven  away  the  tears  as  she  arose 
from  the  table  to  go  to  the  piano. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Uncle?"  she 
asked,  at  last. 

A  knowing  smile  lighted  up  honest  Luigi's 
face.  He  answered,  quietly,  but  loudly  enough  for 
Raymond  to  hear: 

"You  love  him,  Adelina.  It  is  in  your  voice. 
Only  through  love  could  you  have  sung  as  you  did 
just  now.  I  have  been  a  singer  and  I  know.  You 
love  him,  I  tell  you,  and  you  will  forgive  him." 
Then,  as  he  looked  into  her  face,  he  added,  confi 
dently:  "You  have  forgiven  him." 

She  did  not  shake  her  head  now. 

"Signor  Doctor  Raymond,  come  here,"  cried 
Luigi,  in  mock-stern  accents.  "Adelina  want  you. 
Pietro,  come  with  me  to  the  studio." 

Father  and  son  went  out,  leaving  them  to 
gether. 


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GRET :    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
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OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
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A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
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THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.  By  Josephine  Daskam.  Illus 
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The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
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REBECCA  MARY.      By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.      Illustrated 

by  Elizabeth  Shipp  en  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
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THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  true 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
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THE  MAN  FRO  M  BRODNEY'S.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.  One  of  Mr.  McCutcheon's  best  books. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE   REMUS.     By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.    Illus. 

trated  by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 
Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
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THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.     Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
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MARY  JANE'S  PA,   By  Norman  Way.   Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa"  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
nimsell  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  joys,  he  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorous 
bits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  Is  brought  in 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
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ent  lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  hi  the  fleck. 

A  WOMAN'S  WAY.    By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 

scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
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THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  rhoir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
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A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     Illus 
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A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  './ho  cpmes  under  the  influence 
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struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  realism. 

THE  SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  in  dialogue  with  a  fine  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL  IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre.     Illustrated 
with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  veil' 
turesome  spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE    SCARLET   PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy.     Blus- 

trated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  in 
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